


String Theory

by ghostvinyls (jebbyfish)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, F/M, Fix-It, Panic Attacks, Roadtrips, Sex, but like not detailed cuz idk how to smut, one night stands lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jebbyfish/pseuds/ghostvinyls
Summary: And the team was, for a brief time still, a team. Like an old group of high school friends that you swear to talk to every day because of this naive belief that you’re friends for a lifetime.But people drift apart. And suddenly the texts and calls and meetups slow and stop.A lifetime doesn't have a pause button.--Ten years after the fall of the Galra Empire, Pidge finds herself both at home and a long way from it.Thankfully, the first person she ever fell for found his way back to her. Because things would definitely make sense from there.If only it was that simple.(mature deep things. winks)





	1. Heroism Has Its Perks

She got used to the nightmares.

A whispering voice, a repetition of the word “Voltron.” Galra. Fighting for her life. Saving the galaxy. Being a hero. Defender of the _ fucking _ universe.

None of which, by the way, was what Pidge was expecting the day her father and brother had disappeared on Kerberos.

But that had all happened, and it left her here, in the bedroom of her janky apartment at three in the morning, staring up at dying glow-in-the-dark stars with a heartbeat hammering out of her chest and sweat cooling on her cheeks.

Being a retired hero didn’t always have perks.

Her mattress creaked in protest as Pidge got up. She tried to pretend she wasn’t suffering from a lack of sleep, of course, because she was Pidge and she was cool and totally had her shit together. Pidge didn’t have the option of not.

Ten years.

It was a short walk to the bathroom, squeezing her eyes shut as she flicked on the fluorescent light bulb to avoid blinding herself. She didn’t take long to piss; she did, however, take forever standing in front of the mirror, eyes on her reflection.

Were her eyes always so puffy? The bags beneath them always so dark?

She ran a hand through her bangs, unsticking them from her forehead, the other hand turning the faucet on to cup water and drag the fresh, cold liquid across her features.

She fumbled a moment later with opening the medicine cabinet to retrieve the anxiety pills. They worked half the time, of course, but it was better than none of the time.

Another fumble. The faucet still ran as she bent down to gulp water with the pill.

Average night.

She squeezed her eyes shut to forget the war.

It was after the Galra Empire had been completely defeated when Voltron returned their paladins home. They had been celebrated for a year or so, Pidge couldn’t remember. Allura and Coran had stayed briefly, accepting praise and giving rousing speeches across the world.

Then they had to leave. And the team was, for a brief time still, a team. Like an old group of high school friends that you swear to talk to every day because of this naive belief that you’re friends for a lifetime.

But people drift apart. And suddenly the texts and calls and meetups slow and stop. A lifetime doesn't have a pause button.

Shiro was there for the Holts, of course. Shiro was always, always there for Dad and Matt’s recovery. And even as he continued to pilot around the galaxy, he sometimes texted her hello when his feet found Earth.

As for the other three…

Pidge sat a little harder on her bed, a pang in her chest.

She almost forgot how much she missed her boys.

She wondered, quietly, what they were up to. If they were doing the same things she was-- waking up from nightmares in the deep of space, trying to fit back into a reality they had long forgotten they were from.

And it was almost tempting, to text them. To tell them she missed them, even a little bit, but she didn’t know if Keith really was set on returning to the cosmos or if Hunk went back to college or if Lance’s noncommittal shrug was a sign he was sticking to the Garrison or not. She wondered a lot about what that all meant, when Shiro pulled his four younger teammates aside and looked at them all with a warm smile and asked that damned question.

“What’s next?”

Pidge had said she’d go back to school, like Hunk. She’d go back and get her degree and become an environmental scientist, a field she wouldn’t have dreamt of considering before Voltron, before the Olkari.

And yet, ten years later, Pidge never went back to school and she did math in her head and that seemed to be good enough for a nine-to-five job that paid enough to feed herself and pay the rent. And nobody cared, ten years later, that she defended the universe. That she saved Earth and their lives and all the other lives beyond the Milky Way, too. And really, that was too much responsibility to place on the shoulders of a few teenagers because she was fucked up about it and only domino-affected the rest of her fuck-ups.

And Pidge didn’t know when she fell asleep again, because suddenly her phone was ringing and the sun was up and someone was in her kitchen brewing coffee.

Her body ached when she went out to greet him, the man in her kitchen with tied back hair and dorky glasses and two cups of coffee in his hand.

“Coffee?” Matt chirped to her, extending one cup.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sorry about last night,” his tone was always apologetic, even when he had nothing to apologize for.

“It’s fine. What time is your appointment?”

“Ten. You know, I think you could really value from making an appointment too.”

The coffee was bitter. He always brewed it too bitter.

“No time, but thanks for the offer. Again.”

Matt was hesitating again, words ready to leap from his lips as he observed her over his own mug. She quirked a brow at him.

“I heard you yell last night. Nightmares?”

A nonresponse was almost always a response.

“Like I said, you’d really benefit from an appointment. Dr. Kaur is--”

_ “Matt.” _ Pidge exhaled a little harder than she intended. “I don’t want a shrink. Stop asking me to see her.”

A pause in the conversation. Pidge took the moment to sweeten her coffee.

“Okay. I’ll stop asking.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re good to drive, right?”

She didn’t conceal her smile at him, nodding in confirmation that she could take him to the office and read the same five magazines they had every week. She never liked the therapist’s office, not just for the overtly medicinal look to the waiting room, but for the fact they never did replace their home improvement and craft magazines. She was certain she was an expert on Easter egg DIY basket weaving by now.

And it wasn’t a long drive to the office, or a long wait for Matthew Holt to be called into the doctor’s room. She had an hour to kill, and to her surprise and delight, the latest issue of  _ Better Homes and Gardens.  _ She almost didn’t notice, when the office door opened and a ten year old memory hovered in the entrance, stiffness in his muscles as he recognized the golden brown tresses of hair and a jacket that, although barely recognizable, once belonged to him.

“Pidge?”

She was surprised to see him.

A ten year old memory with watery blue eyes and dark brown curls. 

Pidge’s fingers began to curl around the pages of the magazine. The door was still wide open and  _ damn him-- _

“You’re letting the cold in.”

Lance was broken from his trance, and he stepped aside to let the door swing shut behind him. He cleared his throat.

“I, uh. My bad.”

He walked away, to the front desk, to sign his name and appointment time. Pidge’s eyes fell back to the magazine. Black was very in nowadays for bathroom interior designs. She never would have guessed.

“This your doctor?”

Him, again. Of course it was him again. She lifted her gaze, surprised yet unsurprised to find Lance McClain sitting in the seat across from her, legs stretched across the aisle in his usual lanky fashion.

“Matt’s, actually. I don’t see a doctor.”

A break in the conversation.

“This is only my second appointment.”

She turned to the next page. Five tips to brighten up any room with stripes.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Start going now, I mean.”

“Not really a fan of asking for help.”

Despite herself, she let out a snort. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

_ “Ah, _ still stings.”

She forgot how much she missed him. It was one thing, when Lance wasn’t there and she could feel everything for him at once. And it was another thing, when he was there, and he was looking at her the way he used to before the drifting apart began.

Ten years. A long time.

“Let’s get drinks tonight. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

“Okay.” She didn’t expect herself to agree.

Lance’s name was called, and he quickly sent her a text to confirm her cell was the same, and Lance was gone and she wondered if she was still asleep and dreaming and dreaming and dreaming and dreaming. Of Lance. Because of course she’d dream about him, because it was only natural to miss your first crush and want so desperately to see them again even when things don’t work out and you’re forced awake every night like clockwork by dishibilitating dreams.

And Pidge lost track of time and space again as reality shifted to make more room for her and her heavy thoughts and memories of being a goddamn hero. Matt poked her cheek. She drove him home, somehow.

And somehow she was in Lance’s car, hours later when the sun slipped past the horizon and she was looking up into deep blue space again. Passenger seat. Alcohol numbed the spin cycle of her thoughts, buzzing through her veins.

“I didn’t think you were a lightweight,” Lance commented softly from the driver’s seat, a water bottle rolling between his lithe fingers. Pidge shifted to stare at him.

“I’m not light anything.” It was the alcohol doing the talking. He passed the water to her.

“You’re fucked.”

_ “You’re _ fucked. All fucky and weird and everything.” She almost choked on the water. “You can’t  _ do this, _ Lance. Suddenly turn up after years of radio silence and ask me out and make me get all fucky, too. I’m not you.”

“I know. I feel a little bad.”

“A little?”

“I was just excited to, uh, see you again.”

She paused, her lips pressed against plastic. “Me too. I missed you. I had a dream last night and I missed you.”

“You dream too?”

“Nightmares, mostly.”

“Same here. That’s why I decided to see a therapist. My sister got worried. Ten years and they just… never stop.”

“Sisters, am I right?”

“Sisters, yeah.”

It was a long time before the water woke Pidge up. A long time before her slurring turned to words again, and Lance drove her back to the janky apartment.

“Want coffee?” She asked, fumbling with her keys. Lance drove his hands into his pockets.

“At two in the morning? Sounds good.”

Shit. Was it really that late? At least it was a Saturday. Sunday. Whatever.

She sat on the counter as the pot brewed.

“You still have that old thing,” Lance whispered, eyeing the jacket she wore. He probably couldn’t fit it anymore, and for some reason of course Pidge still could.

“It reminds me of home.”

And they both realized at that second, that the coffee was never going to be finished.

She grasped at his fingers as the first signal, and for a brief second Lance didn’t want to react. And he was sure there must’ve been remaining alcohol in both of their systems, because he couldn’t justify it any other way and neither could Pidge when his lips found hers and she had her fingers in his hair.

Her bed was creaky, not that either noticed. And vodka sucked in Pidge’s opinion, but tasted sweet on his lips and warm, so warm. 

It was almost instinctual. 

Needy.

So disgustingly  _ needy. _ As if there were years of buildup for a moment of bliss. The need for his fingers to creep up her shirt and run soft thumbs over her breasts, the dizzying moment for Lance to unhook her bra and for Pidge to unbuckle his belt without any light beyond glow-in-the-dark stars. She whispered for protection and laughed when he provided. And it was almost endearing, to be encapsulated in that moment, with his member deep inside her body and her thighs squeezing his shoulders and she wondered why people needed therapy when they could just get  _ bent. _

“Did I fuck up?” Lance was whispering into her hair. She pressed her lips together, suddenly more aware of the dark, of his heartbeat in her ear.

“You did fine.”

“Not what I meant. I mean…” He was hesitating, and Pidge had to squeeze her eyes shut. “This was wrong, wasn’t it?”

“Did it feel wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. I mean I don’t, either.”

He let out a laugh, and Pidge wished she could do the same. He was pulling away from her, and she felt neither here nor there.

“We shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, then so am I.”

“Fucked up, huh?”

“Fucked up.” She was in agreement.

Silence was far too unforgiving, this time.

“I think I should go home. I made another appointment for tomorrow.”

“That’s so soon.”

“I’m trying to get better.”

Pidge paused for a moment, weighing his words against her own.

“Is it really so bad to not be?”

Lance was quiet, when he crept out of bed and out of her apartment. And Pidge still felt dizzy and, lying back down into bed to stare up at crappy, dying, not real stars.

And she waited to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HENLO......... i can't believe i'm gonna attempt 2 fics at the same time  
> this one's heavy!!! angst is rough for me 2 write so i'm disguising this mostly as a fix-it fic shh shhh  
> (i promise it's a fix-it fic :""""))  
> weird exposition chapter i suppose??? we'll get into more plot things soon :")) idk i'm just tired of finals and moving houses!!! busy week. i'm gonna pass out tysm  
> u can yell at me on [tumblor dot com](http://spacetravels.tumblr.com) if u wanna


	2. The Problem with Time

He hated having lost time.

Lance had a long list of shit he hated, but if anything could top the list, it was lost time. He slept in a lot, and it was a blessing he worked later at night because otherwise he’d be fired. Lance kind of missed waking up in the morning every time he opened his eyes and checked his phone and soaked in the afternoon light. Mornings were always peaceful and stirring and nobody was in a rush. By noon, the world was awake and a few steps ahead of him.

Time moves differently in space, that was the first thing Lance noticed when he came back to the earth he missed so dearly. Time moved differently, and nothing stood still.

He felt immediately terrible about the night before. Pidge. Katie. His head was swimming a little at the thought of it.

Lance had a lot of one night stands. 

Lance didn’t have one night stands with Katie Holt.

His therapist was going to have a field day.

And he was glad that Dr. Kaur was a pleasant older woman. He didn’t know much about therapy but he was glad she wasn’t going to nag him about being a downer and a loner and, worst of all, a heavy alcoholic. She was kind of _getting him_ \-- which he figured was in her job description but it was a nice thought nonetheless.

Deep down, he was grateful his sister pushed him towards this. Despite, you know, the terror of waiting for his name to be called and to sit down in the leather swivel chair in her office and spin and spin and spin until she arrived with file in hands and concern in her deep brown eyes.

“Good afternoon, Lance,” said Dr. Kaur.

“I had sex last night,” said Lance.

She peered up at him from behind rectangle frames, furrowing her brows together.

“Is that what you want to talk about today?”

“I mean, I figured we’re close enough now that I could tell you about all the great sex I’m having.”

She offered a smile, and Lance was almost blind to the analytical way she was looking at him.

“So, are we talking about your sex life?”

Lance felt shame tug on his shoulders, and he spun the chair once before settling down, looking Dr. Kaur in the eye. “It’s relevant, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Remember the green paladin?”

Dr. Kaur was caught up on world affairs of course.

“Her. I haven’t seen her in like, a decade. And we just…”

“Things happen.”

“Yeah. Was that a shitty thing? Like… We didn’t even talk. Not really, I guess. But it was just a one night stand, or something. But uh… was it shitty?”

Dr. Kaur scribbled something down, and she was quiet for a moment.

“Do you think you’re a bad person for it?”

Lance gnawed a moment on his lower lip.

“I don’t know.”

“Your relationship ten years ago… what was that like?”

“It was fine,” Lance was telling the truth. “We were really good friends. I think she had a crush on me back then, but uh, nothing really happened.”

“Did you have a crush on her too?”

“No! I mean, maybe?” He let out a sigh, running a hand through brown curls. “I-I don’t think I really looked at her like that. I mean, she was always really cool and smart and super pretty… But…”

A pause. Lance cracked his knuckles.

“Not the right place or time?”

“Yeah. That. I think we were too different.”

“You might be a lot more alike than you think, Lance. Perhaps she’s feeling the same way?”

“Mutual crush again?”

“No, I mean about... sleeping together out of the blue.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” She scribbled something else down. “You two used to be close, she had an unrequited crush. And you slept together, after ten years of nothing. You feel bad about it.”

“Right.”

“So what’s next?”

The words hit him like a freight train, and for a moment, he saw Shiro reflected in the gaze of his therapist.

“I guess I could… call her? Properly make amends?”

A brief nod. “You could do that. Are you going to?”

And that brought him, later, standing outside the bar he worked at, phone in hands, thumb hovering over her name in his phone.

Dr. Kaur was right, sure. He had to call her. He had to call, and they had to talk, and even if they don’t continue the conversation very far, Pidge had to know he felt bad and they were friends and they should keep being friends.

And yet.

There wasn’t time.

Five minutes before he had to clock in. It wasn’t nearly enough, right? And that was a good excuse as any not to tap her name and hold his phone to his ear and wait on a ring that would’ve been far too unbearable, far too terrifying.

Time was his enemy even when he had it.

He pushed the idea to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!!! it's my 19th bday ^o^!!! so i thought i'd update this in between classes haha. why am i writing fanfic in a library. i'm a mess  
> UHHH sorry for slow updates across the board!! two fics at once was a maybe bad idea. also it's finals!! and my family is in the middle of moving!! so i've been kinda displaced and whatnot. hope to get back into the swing of things this summer >:O!!!  
> ALSO THANK U FOR THE SUPPORT!!! this fic is definitely different from my usual brand of angst and stuff; super experimental, so bear with me as i try to get a feel for the universe and style i wanna use :0!! short chapter rn, longer chapter next time :>  
> THANKS AGAIN!! farewell friendos


	3. We Had a Destination

“I was thinking of getting out of town for a few days,” Pidge said into her cup of juice. The tinkling of utensils slowed to a stop, and she was acutely aware of three pairs of eyes on her.

“Going where?” It was her mother of course, and Pidge held back a wince at the tone of her voice.

“I dunno. Maybe drive cross-country to visit an old friend.”

“Which old friend?”

“Hunk.” Pidge didn’t miss a beat. “You guys remember him, right?”

“You’re talking again?”

Pidge didn’t answer, tilting the cup back to sip at her drink. An exasperated sigh came from her mother again.

_ “Katherine.” _

“Now, honey,” it was her father who spoke up to interrupt her mother, and it was always such a mystery to Pidge how he could give her mother one glance and all the stress from her gaze just melted away. “I think it’d be good for Katie.”

“To just up and go roadtripping alone to see some guy who isn’t even talking to her?”

“Road trips are fun. Remember our first trip together to Acadia?”

“That was  _ different, _ Sam.”

“Different how?” Pidge interjected, and she instantly regretted it at the stare her mother gave her.

“We had a  _ destination, _ Katie.”

A destination. A thing she didn’t have. Because, quite honestly, Pidge was more interested in just driving to nowhere and going where the road would take her.

But that wouldn’t convince her mother of anything.

“What even brought this on, hon?”

She locked her honey eyes with her mother again, wetting her lips to speak.

“Brought… what on?”

“Your idea to just… _ leave. _ You have your job to think about…”

“I can get time off. A-and it’s not like this wouldn’t be the first time I--”

Matt kicked her chair. Pidge chewed hard on her lip. For a moment, no one spoke.

“I just want you here, Katie. With  _ us.”  _ Her mother’s words were like an icepick digging into her bones. “I’m sorry if I sound unsupportive of your plans.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Really. I was kind of an asshole.”

“No cursing at the table.”

“Right. Butthole.”

“Not much better.”

They shared a short laugh, and Pidge glanced down at the plate of spaghetti that wasn’t as appetizing as it was a few moments before. Gears turned slowly in her head.

“Katie? You okay?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.” Monotonous. Not quite there. But her mother didn’t question it again.

Roadtripping with no destination. An inkling of a destination in her mind but no real plan of where she was going and how she was getting there. But it was going to drive her insane if she didn’t do it.

“How’s the cauliflower rice?” inquired her mother after a moment, the question directed at Pidge. She nodded through a mouthful.

“Delicious, Mom.”

 

It was ten at night when Pidge finally decided to head home. She didn’t hate driving out to the suburbs to enjoy a family dinner every few nights, but it was such a strange reminder that she never really did move out of her parents’.

“Sweetie, can we talk?”

It was her mom who followed her out to the car, pale, wrinkled hands wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she walked. Pidge didn’t object, of course. This was her mom.

“About?”

“About what you were talking about during dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.” She twirled the keyring around a finger, keeping her eyes on anything but her mother. It wasn’t even that cold out for a shawl.

“Are you okay, Katie?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Thing?

She paused, scrutinizing her mother’s face, gnawing on her lower lip. “What are you talking about?”

“That face you make when you recall all the bad things about Voltron.”

Pidge involuntarily winced at the V-word. Her mom hasn’t said the V-word in years.

“I didn’t know that was a thing I did.”

“I guess you didn’t. But usually that face got accompanied with… you know… those  _ panic attacks _ . And when you got that look in your eye talking about traveling out of the blue, I just--”

“You got worried. I get it.”

Colleen’s mouth fell open, and Pidge could tell she nailed it right on the head.

“I did. I’m your mother, it’s my job to be worried.”

She let out a laugh, closing the short distance between herself and her mom, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, hon. Just when you come back let me know so I can make you your favorite for dinner.”

That was new. Pidge pulled away from the embrace, her hands clutching her mother by the shoulders, an eyebrow quirked in surprise. “When I come back?”

“Roadtrip, sweetie. Get with the program.”

“You… you want me to leave.”

“Your father pulled me aside while you and Matt were doing dishes. He thinks it’d be good for you. Clear your mind, drive wherever. An adventure in it’s own right.”

“Are you collectively forgetting what happened the last time I decided to go on an adventure?”

Her mom laughed, pushing Pidge back slightly. “What’s with you all of a sudden? Do you want me to ask you to stay?”

“Yes. That’ll make it way more easy to rebel and drive off into the sunset.”

“Katie. You know I’m still… adjusting. But you’ve been home for years. You and Matt and my Sam. And if you asked me a week after coming back to earth to leave again, I would’ve never let you gone. But it’s different now.”

“You’re still scared, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m petrified,” Colleen was squeezing her daughter’s hand, pushing her in the direction of her car. “That’s why you should leave as soon as possible and don’t tell me you’re gone until you’re a hundred miles from this town, just so I can’t ask you to come home.”

Pidge snorted at her, clambering into the vehicle and turning on the engine, a cool blast of air from the AC greeting her even though the window was open and it wasn’t nearly hot enough to need the cold.

“Okay. If you insist I stay, I will.” Pidge teased her mother, putting the car into reverse.

“I’m not-- _ oh. _ Right. Please, for the love of  _ God, _ Katherine Holt. Stay here.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, but okay. I will. I love you.”

“I love you more. Drive safe, okay?”

And with that, Pidge was off and driving away from the suburbs, back into a strangely sleepy city with a head full of plans and, at the same time, no plans at all.

And for a minute there, Pidge was content. She was going to pack a bag and leave for a week or two and come home and nobody would be the wiser. Roadtrip.

Roadtrip.

She figured it wouldn’t be that different from travelling the universe, roaming hundreds of galaxies, saving planets from a totalitarian regime with a thirst for blood.

Except maybe, hopefully, she wouldn’t have to do a lot of planet saving. After all, this was Earth. The Galra were defeated. The most dangerous thing she has to worry about on this roadtrip is…

Is…

Las Vegas?

Or perhaps, the familiar janky blue car that was parked in front of her apartment complex.

She slowed her vehicle to a crawl to scan the license plate to make sure. Yep. Same asshole, pulled into the empty lot next to hers.

Pidge laid her hand on the horn as she pulled in. Solid ten seconds. She almost forgot about her neighbors.

She rolled her window down, staring across at him, waiting, hands drumming on the steering wheel.

He was snarky when he rolled his window down, leaning across the passenger side to shout at her.

“You’re not parked.”

She shifted into park, lifting her foot from the brake.

“Hi Pidge.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Unfortunately I don’t have plans on Thursdays so I wanted to hang out.”

“That’s why you  _ go make plans.” _

“I  _ did _ make plans! I made plans to come over, invite you out to see a movie, and go see a movie. I mean, we can probably catch some late showings, but--”

“Go home, Lance.”

Lance seemed to consider it for a second, eyelids lowering and a frown forming on his lips. “You know, my therapist says forcing yourself to be alone all the time is really bad for your mental health.”

“Thanks, but last I checked, you’re not a therapist.”

“No, that’s why I was relaying the message of a real therapist.”

“Oh you’re just a--!” Pidge stopped herself mid-hiss, unbuckling her seatbelt and scrambling out of her vehicle to stand over him. “You’re just a real piece of  _ work _ , Lance McClain.”

“A piece of work who got worried about his friend and wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“We…” Pidge exhaled, leaning back against the side of her car, folding her arms over her chest. “We aren’t friends, Lance.”

Lance stared up at her, expression unchanging.

“You’re right. We’re  _ family. _ And family means--”

“--If I let you in ,will you please stop talking?”

She didn’t know why she did that. The last time she let him into her apartment she also let him into her pants.

But for what it was worth, Lance McClain was doing a very good job of not making things weird. He started texting her a lot the day after… _ that.  _ And she humored him, for the most part. Answering his memes with dumber memes. Sending emojis with her texts even if she didn’t like them because she knew he was fond of them. If Lance wanted to acknowledge the status of their relationship, he didn’t make any indication of it.

It was like it never happened.

Pidge was okay with that, like how she was okay with the fact that it did happen.

A one night stand. A weird strange night where she needed meaningless sex and got it and there was an emphasis on “meaningless” that she couldn’t tell if she was okay with or not.

No. Of course she was okay with it. She didn’t have a dumb teenage crush on him anymore. They were both adults and were both handling it perfectly fine.

“You’ve been scowling at that poor bird for like five minutes now.” Lance suddenly said, and Pidge regained her composure, realizing she was staring at the ceramic bird she bought at Ross cause it looked cute and matched well with the coasters she had.

“Sorry. Want anything to drink?”

“You got beer?”

“I don’t keep alcohol. Matt’s, uh…” Pidge paused, hoping Lance would catch the memo.

He nodded gravely after a moment. “Gotcha. I’ll stick with water.”

She handed him a bottle from the fridge, walking around to sit on the adjacent seat from the couch where Lance had draped his lanky frame over, eyes looking around the apartment.

“Your place is cute. Very Pidge.”

“Very Pidge?”

“Sure. Though, I’m surprised at how clean it is.”

“I outgrew that.”

Lance raised an incredulous eyebrow, which was enough to make her smile.

“I’m serious. I work too much to make big messes.”

“Ah. So Ground Zero’s at your workplace? I almost feel bad for your coworkers.”

“They know better than to come anywhere near my desk while working,” Pidge took a tentative sip of her water.

“Where the hell do you even work?”

“Accounting firm downtown.”

Lance paused, staring at her, a frown forming on his face.

“What?”

“Sorry. Just… never could imagine you with some cushy nine-to-five.”

“Pays the bills.”

“Yeah. But you’re, like, Pidge. You’re twenty times smarter than everyone there, I bet.”

“You’re right. I’m employee of the month, eight months running.”

“You can have any job you  _ want.” _

“You’re wrong. I’m also, unfortunately, prone to…”

Her words died in her throat, the plastic bottle crinkling beneath pressure from her fingers. Lance shrugged, throwing back another gulp of water.

“Cool, so same shit as me. Stuck in a place you don’t wanna be in because of a few…” He tapped the side of his skull, an apologetic smile forming. “Sorry about that.”

“How are you so okay with that?” Pidge blurted, staring at him hard.

“Okay with what?”

She tapped the side of her skull in mimic, brows furrowing. “You’re so… open about it.”

“Dr Kaur says it’s important to like, talk about it. I mean, not really talk about it, but own up to it, you know? Like if I pretend nothing’s the matter then shit gets bad and I don’t like getting bad. So I try to, you know…” He tapped his head again, shrugging. “Acknowledge it.”

“God, I wish Matt was more like you.”

“How’s he doing?”

“The same.” She didn’t mean for her voice to crack, shrugging it off. “Crazy right? Eleven years and he’s still the fucking same.”

“So are we.”

Neither spoke for a good long time, Lance rolling an empty bottle between his hands, Pidge finding herself staring at that goddamn ceramic bird and wishing she had the backbone to grab it and smash it against the wall.

“So change of subject. How was your evening?” Lance quipped, and Pidge exhaled.

“I had dinner with my family.”

“Aw. I’m glad for you. My sister and I never can match up schedules to really hang out.”

“How is she?”

“Aria? She’s fine. I think I need her way more than she needs me, but you know.”

“Mhm.”

Another pause, a break in the conversation. Pidge wasn’t used to this anymore, sitting and talking to Lance. She kind of wanted to…

Go to bed.

Not with Lance, of course. God, no.

“I have a long day tomorrow,” Pidge said quickly, and she ignored the pang of guilt in her heart that begged her to tell him about her road trip plans.

“Oh. Okay, yeah. Me too, actually.” Lance lifted his legs off the couch, sitting up straighter and looking hard at Pidge. “I, uh.”

He paused again, working his jaw. Pidge stared at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Are you okay, Lance?”

“No, definitely. I was just thinking ‘bout nothing. I can leave now. Don’t want to keep you up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They stood at the same time, awkwardness in their shuffles towards the door. It was a moment for him to be on the other side of the threshold, staring back at her, hands shoving deep into the pockets of his jeans.

“I’ll… text you?”

“I’d like that.” Pidge said quickly, a hand hovering over the doorknob. “Thanks. Sorry we didn’t go out.”

“That’s okay. We have time. I mean, it’s not like we’re going off on another space adventure any time soon, right?”

It was a little harder to swallow. “Right. Get home safe, will you?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Pidge.”

She watched him through the peephole as Lance McClain got into his car and didn’t start it for a good minute. Her ankles were starting to ache from standing there on her toes, but she wanted to make sure he was okay.

He seemed fine, sure.

The lights came on, and by instinct Pidge ducked down. It was a moment before she dared check again.

Lance was gone.

One problem down.

She rubbed her fingers against her temples, groaning as she realized the problem was the furthest from being solved as it ever was.

And besides, she didn’t have time to worry about Lance right now. She was leaving, and she’d see him when she got back from her trip, and maybe then things would be okay and she and Lance will have more to talk about and continue to sidestep the elephant in the room. That would work. 

It definitely would have to work, because Pidge didn’t have much else of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG TIME NO UPDATE AO3!!!!!!!!!!!  
> sry about that. i moved houses during the same week as finals and was hotel hopping! friends graduated. trying to get my license. started a business! in simple terms: Life.  
> IN ANY CASE!!!! i have finally conquered that bitch called writer's block. you would not believe how hard it was to get back into writing. Life's mean. Life made me too sleepy to work on things. But i REFUSE to like, not finish this (& other fics LOL)  
> i'm planning to get back into the swing of things here soon! just thought i'd let u all in on the details of why i'm.. slow. but yo brightside!!! a very long wait for an update is better than none at all? haha?
> 
> IN THE MEANTIME: i guess i have a plance blog now. it's the same as my psued here! ghostvinyls! feel free 2 yell at me there :") i'll probs post upd8 links too if i can... remember... idk how to rly do it tho so if i just say nothing and u get an update here that's that LMFAO
> 
> hope you guys have been good tho!!! i missed you all lots and i missed these losers and i missed WRITING!!! i've been trying to get into the meat of the plot for SO LONG... i hope it's lookin ok. i'm very excited. it's time for a road trip.


	4. I Still Have You

“Oh God, she totally hates me.”

“You’re thinking worse case scenarios again, Lance.”

Lance threw up his hands, giving Dr Kaur an exasperated expression. “You weren’t there, Meredith--Can I call you Meredith?”

“I’d prefer Dr Kaur, but if it makes you more comfortable, feel free.”

“Great. So Meredith. She said I wasn’t her friend.”

Dr Kaur nodded, prompting him to continue.

“A-and, oh my god she can never know, but hearing that? I think my heart stopped beating. I thought I was going to  _ die.” _

“Why do you think she said something like that?”

Lance paused for a second, working his lip. “I don’t know. I thought we were cool, you know? We text back and forth these days.”

“Every day?”

“There are gaps. Sometimes she replies in three hours, sometimes she replies in four days.”

“How are your conversations?”

“I dunno, normal? We haven’t… texted. Ever. Like, we didn’t have to really in the Garrison, and I don’t think I could get service beyond the Milky Way, and we had our communicators on hand--”

Dr Kaur raised a hand. “And your conversations outside texting?”

“I just told you. She said we weren’t friends.”

“Lance, you’re going to have to work with me a bit here. What did you say after?”

“I tried to play it off, you know. Made a joke about ohana.”

“Did that relieve any of your anxiety?”

“Haha. No.” Lance did a single spin in his chair, pressing his lips together. “I don’t want her to worry about me.”

She offered him a smile. “I think you do want people to worry, Lance. But you’re also worried, right? Worried you’re asking too much?”

Lance shrugged, his gaze leaving Dr Kaur’s face to glance around the small room.

“Maybe. Hey, are those puzzles?”

“We can’t avoid the subject, hon.”

He threw his arms out. “I know. But there’s nothing to worry about. I mean, hell, talking to you this past month… I think things are really turning around.”

Dr Kaur was quick to smile, writing something in her fancy pad. “I don’t think I agree that I’m the only one involved.”

“Really?”

“You deserve some credit, too.”

 

\--

It was a good thing Pidge was a fantastic employee and saved all her vacation days.

Two weeks. On the road. Solo.

Fucking finally.

Pidge looked up at the faint stars that donned the ceiling of her bedroom, undoing the buttons of the uncomfortable-and-perfectly-pressed blouse she wore to work.

_ “Sorry. Just… never could imagine you with some cushy nine-to-five.” _

“Shut the fuck up, Lance,” Pidge said to no one in particular, shimmying out of the top and unhooking her bra. “I don’t see you doing anything better.”

The stars didn’t answer her, of course. She let out an angry sigh, fussing with her bangs again.

She despised Lance McClain, who somehow wormed his way into her daily thoughts when he shouldn’t be there. Thinking about Lance was reserved for when she woke up from nightmares at three am and hoping he was doing better than her. Thinking about Lance also meant she should be thinking about literally everyone else, but she wasn’t. Thinking about Lance should’ve only happened when she was feeling nostalgic for the Good Ol’ Days or whatever the fuck, not wondering if he’d text her goodnight today or if he was too busy mixing Manhattans for all the pretty girls at the bar.

Pidge felt sweatier than usual. She needed a cold shower.

And it was unfortunate for Pidge that Lance wormed her way into her mind in there, too.

Part of her wanted to feel something. Something for Lance that didn’t involve her own self pity or wallowing. Maybe, deep down, she wanted to have a crush on him again.

Impossible, first of all. Second of all, she was sure he was drowning in more than enough self pity, too; a relationship wouldn’t work.

Why the hell was she worried about that?

Pidge scrubbed a little harder at her skin, frowning down at her freckled arms. An idea began to creep into the back of her mind, and she honest to god hoped if she cleansed herself red and raw, she’d forget the idea and never fall through with it.

She’d totally stop thinking about it, even though the moment she got out of the shower she opted for jeans and her favorite NASA shirt and his jacket rather than pajamas.

She wouldn’t actually go over there, Pidge figured, despite the fact her hands were fumbling with her keys to lock the front door and unlock the car and clamber into the driver’s seat as if on autopilot.

It was a Friday night. She deserved to go out and drink. A Manhattan did sound nice.

Right?

 

\--

Pidge hadn’t been to a bar in weeks, not since Lance took her to his job and they did shots and the rest of the night fell into the shitty bass music of the place. It wasn’t the worst bar in town, that much was true. But was it weird that Lance was there and not doing… literally anything else? Very much so.

He never did strike her as a barkeeping type.

The smell was intoxicatingly sweet. There was that shitty bar music again, bass high, every other sound low. The couple near the door were whispering close to each other, glasses clinking, and another group of men crowded around the television over the bar to watch a game that Pidge had no interest in learning. Lance was taking orders from a pair of pretty, dressed out ladies with lazy, buzzed gazes and deep plum lips.

Pidge wished she could stealth her way to the bar. She remembered being able to do that, stealth her way through places. But that was back when she was nimble and smaller and a lot more confident than she was now.

So instead, Pidge shuffled her way over. Lance threw a look her way to indicate he would be there in a second. Then a double-take when he realized the new patron was Pidge.

She suddenly regretted her desire to drink away a Friday night.

It was another few seconds for Lance to fix the pair of girls’ drinks, another few to flirt a bit before finally turning away and crossing the space to her, cleaning hands off on a towel as he moved.

“What’s your poison?”

A joke flirted at the tip of her tongue, but she resisted the urge to say “you.”

“Is a Manhattan okay?”

“That’s probably the most polite order I’ve heard all night.”

“A shot of tequila, too.”

Lance snorted, putting the shot glass on the counter and pouring her the stronger drink. “Okay, so unless I’ve misread our entire relationship, you’re not the type to visit me at work.”

“Oh, come on. You used to bother me while I worked all the time.”

“That was different. We were kids, and you were a loser.”

She stopped herself from smiling, taking the shot gingerly between her fingers, ignoring the salt and lime he set out.

“You’re going to down it straight?” Lance asked, splaying his hands across the wooden surface, a challenging gleam in his eye.

“Think I can’t? Think you can?”

“Not usually supposed to drink at work, but if you’re buying…”

“Barkeep, can I get another round for my friend here?”

Lance kept talking as he got to work. “Friend, huh?”

“Yeah. Friend.”

“Sorry, last night you said we weren’t friends.”

The happy buzz in her chest began to die, and Pidge tapped the shot glass against the counter, hesitating. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Eh. I’m over it. Like I said, family.”

“Uh huh. Okay, family.” She was almost unaware of Lance waving his matching shot in front of her, and she clinked hers to his, liquid spilling off the sides of the tiny glass and wetting her fingers. “To family?”

She did her best to look tough as fire burned in her throat and made her eyes water. She didn’t even like tequila. She had no idea how Lance could look so collected after a straight shot of the devil’s piss.

“I’ll get your Manhattan. The boys across look like they need another round, too,” Lance said lightly, giving her a small smile and a pat on the arm. “Be right back.”

“Okay. Have fun.” Pidge nodded him off, and when she looked back down at the counter she was surprised to see the short glass of water. He must’ve done that when she wasn’t looking. The kind bastard.

He came back with the order, leaning against the counter as he did. “So, what brings you here this fine evening?”

Pidge glanced at him, nursing the drink slowly. “Uh, well. Work was stressful today.”

“Numbers stressing you out, huh?”

“Just because I like them doesn’t mean I don’t get frustrated with them.”

“Frustrated? You?  _ Noooo.” _

She bit her lip, rolling her eyes hard. “Anyway. I’m going on vacation.”

Lance’s eyebrows lit up at the statement. “For real?”

“Yeah. I figured it was a good time to cash in.”

Lance nodded, looking tentatively around the bar once. “Any plans then?”

“Yeah. Plans,” Pidge managed through the whiskey. “A road trip.”

“Ooh. Where ya heading?”

He was, surprisingly, met with silence for the longest time. Then was met with an ample shrug.

“Anywhere.”

They fell silent, save for the sound of pool balls thwacking against each other and agitated shouts as the sport-goers’ team lost offense.

“Why are you telling me?” Lance’s voice came out softer, more hurt than he wanted it to. He couldn’t get weird, not here, not while he was working and was supposed to keep his cool. He couldn’t just… break down crying because Pidge Holt was going to leave for a couple of weeks and he envied every bit of her in that moment. Envied the girl who could get up and get  _ out  _ while he was…  _ stuck. _

Lance didn’t want to be jealous. But sometimes, you can’t control how you feel.

“I--” Pidge stopped herself, drumming her fingers against the counter while downing the rest of her alcohol. “I don’t know. I think if I didn’t tell you, I’d just regret it.”

Lance nodded, pursing his lips as he did. “You don’t have to do things for my sake.”

“If I didn’t, I clearly didn’t learn anything about you up there.”

He let himself smile, gingerly pulling the empty glass from between Pidge’s fingers. “Thanks, then. Uh, if you need me to help you pack your car or anything, just call.”

“Just call,” Pidge echoed, and she returned the smile. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

And it was barely a moment after, when Lance left Pidge’s side to take the order of a new bar patron when his phone began to buzz.

Answer later, Lance rationalized as he poured beer from the tap for them.

Another buzz.

She was persistent as ever.

“I’m at work,” Lance said with a smirk into the receiver after waiting for a third call. He wasn’t the type to be easy about it.

“Actually, I think I do need your help.”

Lance didn’t look over at her. That’d also be admitting defeat to the ever powerful Pidge.

“Okay. I’ll meet you at your place in the morning.”

“Great. You’re bringing your own duffel, right? I’ll have to make room but--”

“--Wait. Back up. My own duffel?”

A pause. She’s kidding, right?

“Okay. I am going to regret this, absolutely. But, uh… Road trips aren’t fun alone.”

Another pause.

“Lance, you there?”

“I am. Can I just ask one question?”

“Sure.”

He hung up, stamping up to where a surprised Pidge sat, looking between him and her cell phone.

“What the shit are you up to, Holt?”

“You know, hanging up on people is rude.”

_ “Pidge.” _

“Like I said, road trips aren’t fun alone. And I can’t drag Matt all over the country, he’ll die.”

“I’ll also die.”

“Oh, quit being a drama queen.” Pidge leaned back, scrutinizing his face. “I want you to come with me, Lance.”

“This isn’t one of your weird impulsive things you’ll regret later, right?”

“Ugh. I hate when you’re trying to be the voice of reason. You’re stealing my job.”

“And you’re trying to… I don’t know! Ruin this sweet deal I’ve got going on?”

Incredulous raise of a brow. He expected that.

“What sweet deal?”

“I-I’m kind of trying to get my life back here, Pidge. I don’t know if you noticed that.” The words came out more forceful than Lance intended, and he almost wished he could take them back. She blinked, surprised.

“You are?”

“I  _ am _ . I-I have this job. And therapy. And I thought, you know, I had  _ you.  _ Cause we were friends, and it’s nice to have a friend to help get through all of this… stuff.” Lance paused, rolling his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Can we talk later? I’m at work.”

Pidge bit her lip, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can talk later. I’ll be sitting in my car. Not sober enough to drive, yet.”

He wanted to shout at her, but that felt a little less than refined. A quick nod would do.

“Okay. I’m done in another hour.”

“Okay. And, uh, Lance?”

She was hovering now, in the space between him and the only exit out of his dingy bar. Her fingers were fidgeting, eyes darting quickly. “I don’t know if it means anything, but, uh, you still have me. Promise.”

The bell mocked him, Lance figured out, while he watched Pidge walk to her car and sit in the driver’s seat, tilting her head back and no sign of starting her car.

He thought about telling the sports-goers they were cut-off as another shout filled the room.

Lance tossed a towel over his shoulder, gears turning in his mind.

He figured he had time to talk to his manager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4am qq!!! we're getting into it. 4 chapters in and we're FINALLY REACHING A STRIDE, A PLOT, A STORY  
> ty 4 ur love and support! u maybe know where to find me! i am sleeping now goodnight!


	5. Something That Already Made You Feel Strong

The interviews had been harrowing.

Pidge remembered that was one of her least favorite parts when it came to being the diplomatic Paladins of Voltron. That was the part Shiro or Allura took care of, the talking part. Hunk was also pretty good at it. Lance could butter up a crowd, send girls into giggles, and Keith, much like herself, hung back. Wallflowers.

“They’re taking us for individual interviews,” Keith gave Pidge the warning, and Pidge resisted the urge to hide in the vents of the castle ship until the earth reporters had left.

She had grown a couple of inches by the time the Galra Empire had fallen. She’d grown up a lot before they were recognized as heroes in their own skies.

“Katherine Holt, correct?” One interviewer had caught her as she was leaving Green’s hangar, and Pidge felt the need to cover her face.

“Sounds like me. Though, people call me Pidge. Er, I guess not really people, as down here you guys probably refer to them as extraterrestrials. I mean, the guys always knew me as Pidge so I guess that means people do call me…” Her voice died as she caught the stare in the interviewer’s face. She always did forget to quell her rambles.

“What can you tell us about yourself?”

“M-Myself?”

“Yeah. We all know the Green Paladin, but Miss Holt, we don’t know you.”

_ That’s fine, then,  _ was what Pidge wanted to say. The Green Paladin was a techie, a prodigy. The Green Paladin was resourceful and a quick thinker and saved lives. The Green Paladin was a side of Pidge that was put on for show, to spark hope in the hearts of beings across the universe.

But then Pidge realized it. This could be on television. She could say what she’d been bottling up inside herself for the last few years.

“I became a paladin for my family,” Pidge managed, a new fire beginning to spark in her chest. “You know, Sam and Matthew Holt? Two of the crew members on the Kerberos mission. The one the Garrison tried to cover up.”

Kerberos was old news. Kerberos had been out of the spotlight since a blue lion was spotted flying out of the Mojave Desert.

The interviewer gave a quizzing look to her camera-holding intern.

“You all remember that, don’t you? Did you even realize Shiro was the pilot of that ship? Did you even realize the Garrison _ stopped trying to look for them?” _

“Miss, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have--”

“You want to call me a hero, right? Can you also call me a scared kid who lost her family? Can you also--”

Firm hands had grabbed at her shoulders, pulling her back into a stranger’s grip.

“Sorry, is it okay to steal Pidge away? We have to help out Allura on the observation deck. Feel free to keep exploring the castle, though.”

She was steered away quickly from the interviewers, one arm wrapped around her shoulder in a vice grip, the other holding her hand.

“God, you are the worst with the press,” Lance finally said once the pair was out of earshot. “Lucky I was there.”

“Right, thanks.” She wrenched from his hold, stepping back, sweeping imaginary dust off of her immaculate paladin armor. “I… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He didn’t seem to care as he offered a shrug. “I’m sure they’ll understand. We’re human, after all. Humans that just got home.”

There was a long pause between the two teens, standing in an empty hall on a ship that was so alien and yet so earthly all at once.

“Yeah. Home.”

 

\--

Lance wasn’t very cool when it came to scaring the shit out of Pidge.

He slammed the door loudly, leaning back hard in the passenger seat, eyes wide like he just saw a ghost and needed to tell somebody, God, anybody.

Or in this case, Pidge.

She gave him a sideways glance, hands drumming against the steering wheel, a frown on her lips.

“It’s past midnight.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Lance managed after a moment, rubbing fingers into his temple. “Oh my god, that’s all you have to say.”

“Sorry. Uh, hi Lance. Go fuck yourself.”

He shot her a dirty look, a flip of the bird.

“Look, you want me to go road tripping with you or not?”

“God, please. It’d be so much more bearable with a friend.”

“Oh, good. Otherwise I just told my boss my grandmother was dying for no reason.”

Pidge resisted the urge to grin at him. “Sorry for your loss.”

“She’s kind of a hardass anyway. So what’s the plan exactly?”

“I have no idea.”

A pause, only interrupted by the sound of cicadas.

“You’re joking.”

“You just show up tomorrow with enough clothes or whatever for two weeks and we’ll go wherever your heart desires.”

“Disneyland. I’ve decided on Disneyland, and you can’t back out now.”

“Aw, wanna get matching ears?”

Lance opened his mouth to retaliate, but something made the boy stop, insteading giving Pidge a silent once-over.

“Can I ask why you’re--we’re-- going on a road trip to anywhere?”

Pidge, in a rare moment of lapse in that brilliant head of hers, didn’t know how to answer.

People seemed to keep asking her that question.

“I just… I want to get away from  _ this.” _ Her hands gestured wildly, pulling one knee up close to her chest. “I-I can’t stand it.”

“Me too,” Lance said, waving a hand in mimic of her gesticulations. “I spent so long in Voltron wanting to go home that now we’re back and… And I regret it.”

“We’re aliens, right? We aren’t from earth, and that explains why we don’t want to be stuck here.”

“Oh, definitely. That’s exactly why.”

There was a long pause between the two, and Lance eventually opted to clamber out of the car, leaning down to talk to her because her car was admittedly way short for his lanky legs.

“So, like eight?”

She gave him a grateful smile in return, leaning across the seat to nod at him.

“So like eight.”

 

Lance had another nightmare about Pidge.

It wasn’t even the slightest bit ridiculous, which irked him the most. Most of the time, his dreams would involve a lot of strange happenings and Lance was okay with that, because at least he wasn’t having real nightmares.

That, or he didn’t dream. He also preferred to not dream.

It was on rare occasions did Lance have a nightmare. And each nightmare was even more tiring than the last, because his head wasn’t making them up and his head really liked basing things on true stories.

A chill went down his spine, remembering Haggar’s voice as she hoisted Pidge in the air with her strange dark magic and got set to strangling the life out of her.

In the past, Lance and Hunk were preoccupied and Lance couldn’t even risk going to her aide. In the past, Shiro saved her life and Lance was grateful she was okay.

In the nightmare, Pidge died.

He slapped his cheeks a little more to wake up, eyes blurring as he read the time from his phone.

Five in the morning. He could still sleep a couple more hours before he had to be at Pidge’s.

Or, better idea.

His fingers were dialing before he could rationalize and stop himself. Dr Kaur was probably doing better things right now. Like, you know, sleeping.

“It’s five in the morning, Lance.”

“I had a nightmare.”

An irritated pause.

“You’re not going to call for these things all the time, correct?”

“No. Jesus, no. I just…” Lance hesitated. “Pidge asked me to travel with her for the next couple of weeks.”

Another pause. He swore he heard the sound of ceramic moving.

“You said yes?”

“I did. So can we reschedule for after?”

“Yes, and as you know, you have my number.”

“Okay, great. Now, uh,” His throat felt dry. “Do you think I’m an idiot for going?”

“I don’t think so,” Dr Kaur was far too kind for this time of day. “I think this could be really healthy for you. Get some closure together. Travel does good for the soul.”

“Sounds mantra-like.”

“Lance, mantras are also good for you. Lifts your spirits. Why not think of one for yourself that you can repeat whenever you need strength?”

“Corny. Sounds corny.”

“Can you at least humor me?”

Yeah, it was far too early in the morning for this. Lance paused, glancing around his room for an idea before striking the hypothetical gold mine.

“Form Voltron.” Boy, he was going to get a kick out of that later.

Dr Kaur didn’t oppose.

“Why that?”

“I figured I might as well say something that already made me feel strong.”

He could almost hear the woman smiling on the other end.

“Okay. Then form Voltron, will you? For your trip, I mean. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I think so. Thanks. I’ll let you sleep.”

“You sleep well too.”

Lance tossed his phone aside, flopping backwards into the sheets, raising his arms into the air like he was holding that giant, flaming sword.

A small grin forced it's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	6. Pre and Post Everything

“Okay, time to establish car rules.”

“Car rules?” She could tell Lance was trying to hide the laughter in his tone, a playful smile on his face as he peered at her over the roof of her Nissan.

“Yes. First rule, no feet on the dash. Second rule, make sure your trash meets the trash bag, and third--”

“Don’t touch the music?”

“What? That’s absurd. Shotgun has music rights. I was going to say no asking for a bathroom break. If I have to pull over to the side of the road and wait for you to piss in the bushes, Lance, I swear to  _ god.” _

“Okay,” Lance deadpanned, splaying his fingers at her. “I’ll wait for pit stops.”

Pidge’s gaze relaxed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I meant,” Pidge blurted suddenly as Lance’s head began to disappear. He peeked up again. “I meant, uh, thank you for going with me. I couldn’t ask for a more...  _ appropriate…  _ companion.”

Lance was grinning, and he ducked his head a little lower so she wouldn’t see the slightest hint of giddiness on his face. She’d never let him live it down.

“Teammate. We’re teammates, Pidge. You’re welcome.”

She ducked her head too, even though she knew her height was good enough to conceal blatant displays of joy. The inklings of a blush showed on her cheeks. He’d never let her live it down.

“Anyway. We’re burning daylight. Got everything?”

“Money, clothes, roadtrip snacks. I’m good. You?”

“Also all set. I hope you don’t mind, but we might sleep in the car a lot…”

“Can’t afford a hotel room?”

“Only if we’re desperate and our spines are threatening to snap from sleeping in car seats.”

Lance opened his mouth to share an innuendo. Pidge’s glare made his jaw clamp shut.

And within minutes, Lance was sitting shotgun and fiddling with the aux cord while Pidge maneuvered her way out of the apartment driveway. Saturday mornings always found their way to be sleepy. The roads were quiet. The sun was shining and warm. The radio, courtesy of Lance, was playing at a soft volume as he scrolled through the music selection on his phone.

“What’s your opinion on classic rock?”

“Uh,” Pidge didn’t tear her eyes from the road as she drove, calculating street names and landmarks to get to the freeway entrance. “Good…?”

“What kind of music do you even like?”

“Video game OSTs. I think I like podcasts more.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t be able to get dorkier.”

She sat up a little straighter, throwing Lance a sideways glance.

“I-I’m not that dorky, am I?”

“Oh. The President of Dorks. Elected because you’re into video games and math and science and wearing those huge frames.”

Pidge scrunched her nose. “I don’t wear those anymore.”

Lance grinned a little at the declaration. “Yeah. I noticed. You changed a lot.”

She let out a disgruntled sound, focusing on the road again. He was right, of course. Pidge grew her hair out again. She ditched the glasses for contacts. She stopped working out; there wasn’t time for that, not anymore. No real need for that.

Her gaze wandered over to Lance again. He kept his hair short, still, but his hair looked shiny and soft, something that died in space due to a lack of access to hair care products. He still worked out. She could tell.

“You…” Her voice died as Lance’s music sparked to life over the aux. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

It was a moment before Lance spoke, and she almost didn’t catch the words he said but when she figured it out her heart almost stopped. Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter.

“What did you say?”

Lance gave her a half-lidded, incredulous stare. “What?”

“You whispered something under your breath.”

A blush began to creep onto his cheeks. “I-I did  _ not.” _

“I heard you.”

“You know, I heard me too. I heard me saying that I didn’t say anything.”

Pidge pursed her lips, eyes focused on the passing scenery. “You don’t have to tell me, then.”

A pause. Lance had reclined back into his seat. “Okay. Thank you.”

Neither spoke for a good while, instead Pidge turned up the volume on Lance’s music and she just… drove. The freeway narrowed into two lanes, and it was fun to drive fast. She forgot how much she liked moving fast.

“You didn’t hack it.”

Pidge looked over at Lance, who had reclined his seat back, neck pillow cozy around his head. He was staring at the dashboard.

“What?”

“I mean, I figured one of the first things you’d do to your car was add some sort of new tech to it.”

“It’s a car,” Pidge deadpanned. “I can’t really… do anything to it.”

“That’s what quitters say,” Lance sing-songed, a grin forming on his face. “I didn’t expect you to turn into a quitter.”

_ I  _ am  _ a quitter,  _ Pidge thought bitterly, but instead she pumped the gas and turned back to the road. “Have any suggestions?”

“Invisibility.”

“Veto, immediately.”

“Cannons. Huge cannons. Ooh. Like, you could totally turn your car into a James Bond-worthy vehicle.”

“I can’t afford an Aston Martin.”

“The fact that you even know the car.”

“The fact that you think I  _ wouldn’t.” _

Lance moved his seat back up, grinning hard. “Okay, now we have to keep discussing car upgrades. Oil trap.”

“God, I would have no reason to use that, ever.”

“Wings.”

“Not a bad idea. Though I’m pretty sure I don’t have a permit to fly.”

“Eh, you make it sound like it’s hard to get one.”

A snort. A long pause.

“Speaking of, did you… Did you go back to Garrison? Once all the hype died down, I mean.”

Lance gnawed on his lip for a moment. “I didn’t. I went home.”

“Home?” She asked, innocence in her tone. Lance winced a bit at it.

“Obviously. You went home, too.”

“I-I mean, I did. But our circumstances were… different.”

“Different.”

“Yeah.” She fell silent. “I mean, with Sam and Matt and everything.”

“Just because I was one person doesn’t mean it was any less hard or different for my family, Pidge.”

The words came out harsh and bitter and Lance wanted to suddenly take them back. Pidge only tightened her grip on the steering wheel, heart stammering out of her chest.

“I’m sorry for thinking I had it worse.”

Lance’s expression softened, his muscles aching as he relaxed them. “I understand. I mean… all that time and we just didn’t know anything about each other, huh.”

She switched lanes, offering a hard nod. “Mhm. You wanna start?”

“Start what?”

“Getting to actually know each other better. I mean,” a shrug. “We know Garrison Lance and Pidge, and Voltron Lance and Pidge, but we don’t know… pre-everything Lance and Pidge. Post-everything Lance and Pidge.”

“Pre and post everything,” Lance echoed, and Pidge gave a curt nod, a smile forming on her lips. “Okay. Cool. So when I was six, my parents took me and my older siblings to the beach.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’d never been before. You know how, the first time you’re taken to somewhere really insanely beautiful, and you like, lose your goddamn mind?”

“So like, uh, Green.”

“Very different beautiful things but sure. I was so excited. Mom kept a real close eye on me of course, but my brother took me down to the pools at low tide and picked seashells with me. And my sister and I played that game where you run from the waves coming in. And the sunset. Those kind of sunsets change your life.”

Pidge snuck a glance at his face, her heartbeat racing as she saw the enthusiastic glint in his dark blue eyes, hands gesticulating wildly. There was a soft laugh attached to his words.

“Varadero Beach,” Lance said with a content sigh.

“When did you last go?”

A long pause. “Pre-Garrison.”

“Not even after you went home?”

“I wasn’t the same person,” Lance said, shrugging. “I wasn’t…”

“A kid?”

“Sure. I wasn’t a kid anymore.”

“That’s not fair,” Pidge managed. “Just cause you’re different doesn’t mean you shouldn’t deprive yourself of things you used to love.”

“Mom offered. She asked if I wanted to spend a beach day.”

“You said no.”

“I had to.”

Realization sunk in. She knew why. Of course she knew why. It was the same reason why Pidge stopped wearing sundresses even though she loved them, even though her mother loved them.

“What was your favorite place as a kid?”

“When I was in fourth grade, we went on a field trip to the natural history museum.”

“Oh? You were a dinosaur kid.”

“I wasn’t, but I knew a lot. Drove my teachers mad, you know? They’d try to tell the class something and I, uh…”

“Oh my god, you corrected your teachers back then, too.” Lance was smiling hard at her. She flustered at the accusation.

“T-too?”

“You did that all the time at the Garrison.”

She remembered. Pidge grinned. “Old habits die hard.”

“Old habits die hard.” Lance agreed.

And Pidge continued to drive, periodically checking the gas, frowning as she did.

“You think if we didn’t find Voltron, we’d be different people?” Lance asked suddenly, and Pidge thought about turning off the AC to annoy him.

“Define different.”

A pause. “You think we’d be sitting here like this?”

Pidge looked down at the road ahead, noting the slight curve as the terrain changed to accommodate a road built between mountains.

She spoke after another long moment.

“I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy!!! been a while since an update!!! road trips are hard to write. not a lot of room for them to uh...... move. it's a good thing i love dialogue  
> hope this was!!! worth your patience. u guys are so patient. i love u so much. i am crying in the club  
> uhhh idk i don't have commentary on this chapter. u guys do road trips right. i'm emulating my own experiences. lance will get a turn to drive too cuz i refuse to let pidge take the wheel for the next 2 fictional weeks  
> i need a nap. thank you for reading, as always!!! ur love lets me level up


	7. Scenic Route

Lance was having an odd dream.

Pidge was there, because she was usually running around in his dreams.

She looked the way she did when they were teenagers. Soft brown locks curling around her face in disheveled helmet hair, the spray of freckles along her nose deep and brown from the days of tanning on this particularly dry planet the castle ship was docking at. She was smirking at him over the top of the device in her hands, a something or other that blah blah tracked temperatures and blah blah subterranean  _ whatever. _

“You’re not listening to me.” Pidge said, a pout forming on her lip. Lance blinked, surprised at being addressed.

“I--uh.” She had him.

“Mhm. That’s okay,” Pidge turned her eyes back down to the device. “I wasn’t talking to you exactly.”

Lance opened his mouth to protest, but shut it quickly as he realized Pidge wasn’t looking at him anymore. His armor felt heavy on his frame.

“I’m getting a reading. Temperature’s rising a few hundred yards west beneath the planet’s lithosphere.”

“English?”

“It’s hot underground somewhere on your left. Let’s go.”

They were quick to move, of course, because Lance could imagine Shiro nagging him to run his laps a little harder as he propelled himself forward, following Pidge. Something was rising out of the ground. Something big.

She shouted at him over his shoulder.

“Your bayard, Lance!”

His bayard?

He reached for it, where it should’ve been--no. No, no. Did he drop it? He wouldn’t have dropped it, right?

“Lance!”

“I don’t know where I put it!” Lance shouted back, feeling along his armor to find the place that summoned his bayard.

_ Unbelievable. Am I an idiot? _

“Lance!” The shell of the earth was cracking. Pulsing with dark fire.

“Hang on, I’ll think of something--”

“Lance!” Pidge’s eyes were growing wide, her hair fluttering up as heat began to blast from beneath them.

“Wait a second--!”

 

“Lance.”

Something was poking his face. He was cold, which came as a sharp contrast to the blistering heat from the planet. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, Lance? Wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, surprised to find he was staring at the ceiling of a car, a seatbelt over him, the chair reclined far back to let him sleep. Pidge was leaning across the gear shift, a hand on his shoulder, a blend of curiosity and worry in her eyes. Lance cleared his throat.

“How long was I out?”

“Uh. A few hours. I figured we should stop and stretch.”

“S’nice.” Lance fumbled for the lever to pull his seat up. “Where are we?”

“W-well, I guess I was thinking about what you said… about Varadero…”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Did you drive through the ocean to Cuba?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, turning the car off. “I went through the trouble of giving my car wings while you were out and flew to Varadero.”

“Please, Pidge. I can’t doubt it when you say it like that.”

“Get up already.”

Lance sat up slow, eyes scanning the horizon through the windshield, his heart threatening to dance out of his chest.

It wasn’t Varadero, but hell, it was still a beach. White sand, an ocean not a tropical blue but misty and dark. It was down the hill, he could see a stairway leading down to the beach, and Lance registered that Pidge had pulled them into a parking lot of some tucked away ocean shore. There were two other cars besides them.

Pidge pushed her door open, and the scent of ocean spray and rain clouds hit him like a trembling wave. He inhaled, deeply.

“You know, I don’t believe we were anywhere near a scenic ocean route when we got into the car.” Lance quipped as he rolled out of his seat, staring up at the rain clouds beginning to roll in from the sea. “You didn’t go out of your way to take me to the beach, did you?”

Pidge was silent for a long moment, fumbling for something in her duffle bag. “I-I like scenic routes.”

“You like scenic routes, sure, or,” Lance walked around to her side of the car, hands across his chest, a grin on his face. “Or you care about me.”

A pause. Pidge stood up, eyes half-lidded as she scrutinized his face.

“You drooled, like, all over the right side of your face, dude.”

“It’s okay, Pidge. I care about you too.”

“Like, you were drowning in your own spit.”

“Nature’s moisturizer.”

Pidge suppressed a laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a grin. “Okay. Anyways, there’s a whole lot of beach down there for us to walk.”

“I didn’t really pack for a beach day,” Lance managed, his eyes following her as Pidge locked up the car and made a stride towards the wooden steps to the shore. She turned to him, a contemplative smile on her face.

“You know, the first rule about travelling is to prepare for any situation.”

Lance jogged to catch up with her.

 

Her feet dug into the sand as soon as they reached the bottom of the steps. It wasn’t warm and sunkissed as she would’ve liked for a perfect beach day, but the cool sand between her toes was certainly welcomed. Pidge shook her sandals out, looking behind her to see Lance stepping out of his worn out sneakers.

“So, what’s the plan?” Lance asked, blue eyes staring up at her from his crouched position. She stared back.

“Plan?”

“Are you telling me that you, Pidge Holt, don’t have a plan?”

He had to have been testing her. She gestured wildly with the hand holding sandals.

“If I had a plan, we wouldn’t be here in the first place. We’d be checking into a hotel room in some touristy town and talking about ordering Chinese food.”

Lance grinned. “That sounds nice. Can we do that later?”

“I…” She cursed him silently. “I’ll make a note of it.”

He stood up carefully, holding up his sneakers as he did. “Cool. Now, uh, what should we do first?”

Pidge followed his gaze out to the ocean. The beach was empty, save for seagulls swooping in and out and hopping along the shore. The sky was grey and misty, the ocean dark and beginning to move with the sky, waves rising and falling to a tempo. Pidge opened her small backpack, which was empty save for a bag of trail mix and bug spray. She shoved her sandals into it, gesturing for Lance to take his shoes and protect them in the bag as well.

“I mean, we can just walk. Enjoy the air. Or something.” Pidge bounced the bag against her back, adjusting to the new weight of shoes.

“Something?” Lance was inching closer to her, brown hair curling and blowing back as a slight breeze picked up. “Like, say, taking a dip?”

“A--?” Her words cut short as she felt one hand wrap around her back and the other scooping her up from under her knees. He wasn’t.

He  _ wouldn’t. _

“Lance McClain, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing so help me  _ god--” _

He bounced her a little and Pidge let out a shriek, arms snaking around his neck. Lance was grinning. “Come on, Pidge. You’re the one who said ‘or something.’”

“I’m going to leave you here. I’m going to get out of this grasp and leave you here.”

“That’s cool. Yanno, being a beach hermit doesn’t sound so bad.”

She wriggled hard, and Lance forgot how strong Pidge had gotten over the years. He locked his elbows a little tighter.

“Lance!”

“You know, water’s good for you.”

“Lance!” He dug his fingers into her side, and Pidge did a bad job of concealing her laughter. “Come on. Let me go! I’ll do anything.”

Oh, he was having way too much fun to let her go. Instead, he opted for a dip, bending Pidge’s head low to the dirt, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Anything?”

Her laughter ceased, and Lance also forgot that Pidge was, without any hesitation, beautiful. Her amber eyes were glowing with a hint of mischief, a small smile forming on her face. He could probably sit and count the freckles dusting her nose, but in the time it would take him to do that, Pidge would have him on the ground.

And she did, to his almost-surprise.

One of her legs had looped over his head, and it took only a second to realize what was happening.

But it was clear they were both out of sparring practice, because instead of a perfect triangle chokehold, they landed unceremoniously in the sand, bodies tangled together in perfect disarray. Lance got sand in his mouth. Pidge was laughing, despite being horrendously out of breath.

“I can’t…” Lance inhaled deeply, suddenly aware of the breathlessness he was in. “Oh my god, you really tried to flip me.”

“I almost did it,” Pidge answered after a moment, raising her arms weakly. “I almost did it. I haven’t trained in years.”

“Neither have I. Oh god, we’re way out of shape. I think you broke my back.”

Her legs were lying against his chest, ankles over his shoulders. He lifted his head weakly to find her propping herself up with her elbows in the sand, eyes bright and wild, brown hair falling around her neck. Pidge was staring at him, Lance realized. She was staring and focused and he could tell she had that look again, that same look she always had when she was thinking about something.

“What?”

Her eyes snapped away, a hand rising to brush at her hair. “Nothing. Need help standing?”

It was difficult to stand, amidst the difficult terrain and from poor endurance. Lance found himself wandering towards the shore, rolling up his jeans as he did, noticing when the sand between his toes grew wet and muddy. He dug his heels in, watching the water roll in from the sea to rise over his ankles. Cold. It was icy cold. A feeling he wanted to remember.

His hands were trembling a little too hard, and Lance caught himself.

He thought about Blue. He thought about how much he missed her. How she probably would have loved to sit here on a beach like this, enjoying the scenery and the weather. He remembered how happy the lion got when it came to the sea.

“You’re swaying,” Pidge suddenly said, and Lance jumped at the sound, surprised to find her next to him, hands pulling her hair back into a braid. “Seasick?”

Lance shook his head, pulling Pidge’s hands away from her hair and getting started on a new, less messy braid. “Homesick.”

She didn’t say anything, nor did she think she’d have to ask him to clarify. Pidge knew exactly what he meant.

“This was… on purpose.”

Lance’s breath hitched a moment, cocking his head as if he could see Pidge’s face. “Come again?”

“You asked me if I went out of my way to take you to the beach,” Pidge continued, her shoulders rising and falling in a noncommittal shrug. “I did.”

For a moment, no sound fell save for crashing waves and the cries of seagulls.

“That was… really nice of you.” Lance said quietly, tying off the end of the braid. “Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal. I mean,” She turned her head to regard him, hands reaching up to touch the final product of Lance’s handiwork. “You’re on this trip with me. That means a lot to me already. A-and you just braided my hair. I figured I should…” Her voice died, eyes drawn back to the ocean.

“Hey, think it might start raining?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! <3


	8. You're Still Here Afterwards

They opted to sleep in the beach parking lot that night, because although Pidge never said it outloud she was exhausted and figured, vaguely, that Lance was too.

“Turn the car off, we don’t want your battery dying somewhere in the middle of the desert,” Lance said, propping his feet up onto the dashboard, a bag of pretzels in his hand.

“Or risk freezing to death overnight? I’ll take my chances.” She crossed her legs over themselves as she stared hard at the wheel of her car. “Besides, if I somehow sleep soundly in this seat and not wake up to turn the car off anyway, well, that’d be new.”

Lance lets out a laugh, although she could already tell his heart wasn’t in it. “I’ve always wondered if you ever slept. Even at the Garrison I swore I could hear you up at night, typing away at your computer…”

His voice trailed off, and Pidge risked looking over at him. A pretzel was pressed between his lips, Lance’s eyes watching the shapes of the dark trees and ocean beyond the windshield. Pidge fiddled with the dial on the radio, listening to soft static whisper to them from the car speakers.

“So, uh, I’ve been wondering something.”

Pidge startled, eyes floating back to Lance, whose gaze was now focused on her.

“You told us you’d go back to school once the team broke up and the hype broke down.”

Oh, that.

“I remember. I was there.”

“Okay. So, why didn’t you? Why’d you just… go home?”

She plucked a little at her nails, quiet.

“I got accepted to Dartmouth.” Pidge admitted after a long moment. Lance’s eyes grew wide.

“The hell, Pidge?”

“What does  _ that _ mean?”

“Dartmouth, and you didn’t go?”

She shook her head, frowning. “I got the acceptance letter, and I said no.”

Lance didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. He wasn’t that great at hiding his emotions. A pretzel-wielding hand gestured at her.

_ “You _ turned down an Ivy League? You,  _ Katie Holt--” _

“Certified young genius, savior of the universe, blah blah blah, turned down an Ivy League. I get where this is going, Lance.”

“Then you know that I’m extremely shocked and extremely--”

“Extremely  _ what!? _ Disappointed? Appalled? Angry?” There was an edge in her voice that Pidge didn’t expect, and Lance recoiled at the lash out. “You don’t think I haven’t heard it before? God, when all of mom and dad’s friends heard I wanted to go back to college, they were  _ ecstatic!  _ ‘Oh, that girl saved the  _ fucking _ universe and all our  _ fucking _ lives and she’s so diligent and wants to get back to her education! So brave, so smart, such a fucking perfect daughter!”

“Pidge.”

“Don’t you get it? Didn’t you ever feel the  _ pressure, _ Lance? Or were you too wrapped up in your ability to just  _ be _ in the limelight and feel great about yourself that trying to live up to that expectation just never occurred to you?”

“Jesus Christ, Pidge! Shut up for a second.”

“No. Fuck you. You’re not allowed to be pissed at me for not going to college.” Despite herself, Pidge forced the door open, scrambling out of her seat to find purchase on the cool asphalt, fists clenched at her side.

“What the-- Pidge. What-what are you doing?”

“I’m going for a walk!”

She ignored him, ignored him when she heard his passenger side door pop open and Lance step out to ask her to come back. Lance didn’t pursue, much to her surprise and relief, as she made her way back down the stairs and back onto the beach.

The sea was dark and cold and so was the air, not that she expected it to heat up anytime soon. Her body shivered in the wind, shivered when she walked straight into the ocean and kicked up a blast of water.

_ Take that, Lance. _

Another kick, ignoring the fact that the water was beginning to numb her toes.

_ That one’s for Dartmouth. _

The anger was beginning to subside and replace itself with fatigue. Her shoulders rolled as a pang of guilt writhed in her chest.

The ocean seemed to agree.

 

“Dr. Kaur, do me a solid and call me a big stupid idiot.”

“Right now? Lance, I have to put my son to sleep.”

“Okay. Ask him to call me a big stupid idiot.”

Her voice came back with a tinge of amusement, and Lance hoped to God he made her smile. “He’s three.”

“Never too early to know when people are being stupid idiots.”

“One moment--” He heard her voice far away from the mic, talking to someone else--probably her spouse-- about putting a little boy to sleep. More muffled words passed between two people he barely knew, and Lance pressed the phone between his face and shoulder to pop his knuckles.

“Okay, I’m available to speak now. Why do you feel you’re a big stupid idiot?”

Lance gave her a quick run through of day one of his super-amazing-fantastic-perfect road trip with Pidge. He went into a bit more deal as he came up closer to present time, letting his seat fall back into a horizontal position with every word.

“I feel like a huge jerk. Like, holy shit, I just shredded any chance of our friendship working out again.”

“I think there’s still something left to be rekindled,” Dr. Kaur was nothing if not encouraging. “People go through rough patches. This is just one of those times.”

“Right, right. You know, I’ve been close to death like a bajillion times. Those feel like rough patches. This feels like, I don’t know…”

“One of those times?”

Lance knew if he said she was right, then he’d be proving her point. And as rational reasonable thought would have it, Lance would not be giving his therapist the last laugh.

So instead, he said, “Pidge is coming back. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And remember, form Voltron!” He could, unfortunately, imagine her throwing a fist up in goodwill.

Lance, despite himself, threw up a fist as well. “Form Voltron.”

Pidge was not coming back, which didn’t make the hole in his heart come any closer to healing up. He let out a defeated sigh.

Was he just… this? Some idiot that just ruined everything between himself and the people he cared a lot about?

_ Speaking of. _

He glanced back down at his phone, reading over the list of missed calls.

Eight from Aria, because it was in her older sister slash roommate tendencies to wonder where her brother disappeared off to.

Ten from his mother, who he was sure heard from Aria that he’d gone missing.

Four from his brother Luis, and, not going to lie, Lance was a little peeved he gave up after four.  _ Show some more dedication, man. _

Not to mention the heavy stream of texts. He left his receipts off to clear the notifications, ignoring the pang of guilt in his chest as he scrolled past every “Where are you?” and “Are you okay? Please text  back.” and “Lance you piece of shit, what are you thinking? Why’d your boss tell me you were going home for Grandma’s funeral? I am so furious. You owe me. Text back. Mom’s going to kill you.  _ I’m _ going to kill you,” in angry--but well meaning-- all-caps Spanish.

He’d text Aria back, eventually, once he was done doing whatever the fuck this was.

Soul-searching?

That sounded  _ unbelievably _ corny.

He clicked his phone off, leaning back over to the driver’s side to turn the car off and take the keys. Pidge has been gone for a good forty minutes. That’s hopefully enough time for both of them to relax. To talk.

He really, really wanted to talk to her.

And he was really, really surprised to find her sitting at the bottom of the steps, face in her hands.

“Pidge?”

She didn’t respond save for her shoulders tensing, her body leaning away from him as her heels dug more into the sand.

Lance sat down a few steps above her, staring hard at her back.

“Are you… are you okay?”

A shake no. She inhaled, harder than what should’ve been normal. It took only a second for Lance to realize what was happening.

He straight up hated panic attacks.

“Okay. Okay. I’m right here, you know? I’m not leaving.”

He paused. “Unless you want me to. Should I leave?”

Another shake no. More slow, loud breaths.

He stared harder at the freckles on her back. The sound of a sleepy sea.

It was cold out.

“You need a jacket?”

A shake no, something mumbled out between heavy breaths. A few minutes passed by in silence, and Lance wondered, quietly, if he was okay to keep talking.

“You know what I miss? My pretzels. I left them in the car.”

Much to his relief, she was breathing normal.

“You’re hungry?”

Her voice startled him, and Lance let out a soft laugh. “I--uh, yeah. I work late shifts and eat late dinners.”

Her body swayed a little, which was reassuring, to say the least. Lance stood up, taking a couple step downs to sit with her.

Her knee knocked against his, and he could feel the cold on her skin through his jeans.

“You’re okay.”

“Ugh. I think so. I feel kinda stupid, but…”

“No need to feel stupid. They happen, and you’re still here afterwards.”

She let out a bitter sound. “I wish they didn’t.  _ God, _ I wish they didn’t.”

“Me too. But seriously, you’re turning blue. Jacket.”

Pidge attempted to protest, but his warm hoodie was already draped across her shoulders, and Pidge didn’t find any reason to complain.

“I feel like all I do is keep taking your jackets.”

“Hey, the other one was getting a little small, and was a gift. This, however, is definitely just borrowing.”

A stiff laugh. “Okay. Got it. Thank you. For checking up on me.”

“Hey, you would’ve done the same.”

And he wished she kept talking, because Lance couldn’t handle the icy tension as he realized she remembered her outburst around an hour before. Pidge leaned away from him, brushing back loose strands of hair from her braid.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“No, I deserved it. Really. You don’t have to apologize or feel guilty for being angry. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel things, Pidge.”

She stared at him, eyes studying his face, a new pain in her chest forming but for an entirely different reason.

_ It’s okay to feel things. _

“I still feel stupid. About Dartmouth.”

“Nothing stupid about not wanting to go back to school.”

“It was. God, my parents’ friends were right. I had so much going for me and threw it all away because I got too scared to commit to a normal life.”

Lance pursed his lips. “Normal’s boring.”

“I could’ve been  _ boring! _ That would’ve been okay. I could’ve… moved on, like a normal person. I could’ve been normal.”

“Okay, but then what?”

Despite herself, Pidge let out a snort. “Could’ve gone to Dartmouth. Met my soulmate at some dumb college party or class or work. Been a scientist, saving the world and universe but in a different, more subtle way. Settle down. Get another dog.”

“And remain a universe saving badass. I like it.”

“Alright, so what would you be doing right now? If you committed to Garrison?”

“Preparing for my next fashion shoot.”

“Ever the diva.”

“You can take the man out of the spotlight, but you can’t take the spotlight out of the man.”

She nudged him with her elbow, and Lance nudged her back. A peace offering.

“Thanks for apologizing.” Lance said suddenly, standing up, a hand held out to her.

“You’re welcome. Got any ideas for the next stop on our road trip?”

“Uh, breakfast. After we sleep in.”

She took his hand, hoisting herself up, feeling the warmth of his palm against her own.

“That sounds really, really good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading. now, let's get back to that road trip!


	9. It Gets That Much Harder To Not Like You

Lance didn’t realize how hungry he was until Pidge waved the paper bag right under his nose. He took it from her hand, tearing it open before Pidge could even pull away from the drive-thru window, hands unwrapping the first bacon-and-egg sandwich he ordered and tearing into it like… Laika.

Deep down, he missed that Yupper.

“Jesus, you look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“My last meal was a handful of pretzels so you’re not allowed to judge.”

She gave a shrug that seemed to say “fair enough,” before reaching across the seat to take a sandwich from the bag between his legs.

“So, we’re in some tiny kitschy roadtrip town right now. See anything fun to do?”

“Ooh, think they have any record-setting larger-than-should-be-normal office supplies on display?”

“Nope,  _ but _ I googled that this place has, like, a gnarly pickaxe museum? Something something about miners’ limbs being blasted off and their pickaxes exploding into toothpicks. Preserved forever in some town nobody visits except for pit stops. I almost feel bad.”

“Did you just say gnarly?”

“That’s it? That’s your only take-away? Should I repeat the part about limbs being blasted off?”

“Alright, alright. So, how  _ big _ are the toothpicks?”

She laughed, pulling into a parking lot for the two of them to sit quietly and eat without getting distracted by open road and cars. Tame Impala soft over the radio. Pidge was getting used to the comfortable silences with Lance. Neither of them had to speak to enjoy the other’s company.

“How’s Matt and your dad?”

She choked a bit on her iced coffee, thanking herself for getting iced, before craning her head over to Lance.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, uh, are they okay? I know they really went through some… intense shit.”

Pidge nodded, slow. “Y-yeah. Dad’s okay. He was really emotional once we got away from the press and space and Garrison legal crap. Just relieved to be home again. You know Matt, you guys have the same therapist.”

“Yeah. I saw him like twice in there. He looks really, really good. Better.”

_ He’s not really, but thank you for saying that, _ Pidge thought, lids drooping as she turned away to focus back on her food.

“Ever miss food goo?” She inquired, softly, hoping it wasn’t obvious she was changing the topic away from her family.

“Food goo? Maybe.”

“It makes me think of Hunk. I hope he’s doing better than us.”

“If he’s not, then we really are washed up heroes. No one deserves to be happy more.”

Pidge chewed on her lip. “Disagree. We all deserve to be happy.”

“Not arguing with that, but you and I both know we’re lost causes.”

“Your attempt at self-deprecating humor sucks  _ ass, _ Lance.”

Lance didn’t respond, lifting up his coke for a quick sip between bites of sandwich.

“Maybe he’s the only one of us to commit to a happy ending,” Pidge compromised.  “Probably did go back to college. Engineering, minor in culinary.”

“Graduated top of his class because he’s Hunk. Probably married.”

“Of course he’s married. Who wouldn’t want to marry Hunk?”

Lance snorted, twisting in his seat to face her, a smile on his face. “Okay, let’s just go down the line of hypotheticals for the old team. Keith next.”

“In space. Taking on missions for earth. Probably a heartbreaker.”

“Kept the mullet, you think?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Lance let out a hard, satisfied laugh. “Shiro?”

“Uh, the same. Keith would follow in whatever Shiro’s footsteps are.”

“They’re too cool. Probably space diplomats, right? God, I miss them.”

“Me too. You do Allura and Coran.”

“Allura’s still beautiful and doing a great,  _ great _ job as queen. Coran’s amazing as her advisor and closest confidante, and they’re the happiest they’ve ever been since waking up from ten thousand years of sleep.”

She gave a satisfied nod. “Okay.”

“What about Pidge?”

“She’s sitting in a car with a boy who makes her laugh and talking about people they haven’t seen in a decade. Lance?”

“Okay,” Lance paused for dramatic effect, splaying his fingers. “He’s in the same car, wondering where this ‘boy-who-makes-Pidge-laugh’ is sitting and why he hasn’t revealed himself.”

He earned himself a smack to the ribs, peals of laughter bursting from their chests.

“You’re an  _ idiot.” _

“And you’re so…” Lance paused.

He realized, suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. Pidge was done laughing, a hand hovering over her chin, eyes wide and bright, honey curls from an undone braid falling around her face. There was something endearing about the way she was looking at him, the smile on her lips. His heart skipped a beat when he realized he recognized the look.

No one’s smiled at him with that much fondness in years.

“Finishing that sentence?” She whispered, soft and teasing. Lance blinked, leaning away from her as he did.

“You’re so b…” A hesitant pause neither expected. Lance cleared his throat. “You’re such a  _ bummer. _ Why are we--” He let out a nervous laugh. “Why are we talking about them like they’re dead?”

Pidge blinked, surprised for the sudden change in topic. “Cause… we miss them?”

“Okay, true, but hey, I miss the stars and you don’t hear me reminiscing about their lives like we’re gonna lose them forever.”

“Stars can die, too.”

Lance didn’t speak for a long time, munching his way through the rest of his second sandwich. “You know, Pidge, sometimes I wonder if that’s why I miss them so much.”

“The fact they can die?”

“Yeah. They can die. And…” A pause, another mouthful of food as if that’d conceal whatever he was going to say next. “I’m not just talking about the stars.”

He turned up the radio volume, and Pidge didn’t complain as she started the car’s ignition again.

She made a mental note not to remember those words.

 

“I can take the wheel,” Lance offered a few hours later on the open road. Pidge glanced over at him.

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

An incredulous snort, followed by: “And  _ you _ do?”

She didn’t say anything after that, only pulling over to switch seats and curl herself into shotgun, nervously drumming a hand on her thigh.

Lance took notice, raising a brow at her. “Don’t trust me with your car or the destination?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just--” she waved her hands around, searching the air for the right words. “I like being in control, you know?”

“Next toy store we find, I’m buying you a toy wheel so you can pretend steer with me.”

“That… actually sounds fun. Get one with a jingle horn. Old Macdonald.”

A deep laugh. “Christ, Pidge, when you say things like that it gets that much harder to not like you.”

She pressed a hand over her heart, eyes wide. “I’m _ scandalized! _ You didn’t like me before?”

“No comment.”

“Really, Lance? If team Voltron was trapped in a housefire and you could save everyone but one person, who’d you leave behind?”

“Uh, me? I go down swinging, duh.”

“And who’d you save first?”

“You.” He said it without hesitation, in a matter-of-fact tone. Pidge stared at him. Lance noticed. “I-I  _ mean _ … okay, I really don’t know how to recover from that so, yeah. I’d definitely save you first.”

Pidge let out a snort, turning her gaze back to the road. “Well if it means anything, I’d save you first, too.”

A comfortable silence fell between the former paladins, and Pidge stared hard at the road ahead, fumbling with her phone.

“Where are we going?”

“Half the fun’s the journey,” Lance quipped, a grin forming on his face.

“That means absolutely nothing to me.”

“You know, you’re talking too much.”

“And you’re being awfully suspicious.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be honest, I was just going to drive until we got low on gas.”

_ “Lance!” _

“What?” There was mirth in his tone as he leaned away to dodge her fist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Technically, the next gas station  _ is  _ a destination.”

“Oh my god, no. We’re going to end up in some creepy ass nobody town in like four hours and the gas station’s going to be run by an axe murderer.”

“Axe murderer? Really?”

“Fine then. Some… Galra fucker.”

Lance let out a low whistle. “Galra fucker?”

“That was the first thing that came to mind.” Pidge said, crossing one leg beneath the other. Lance gave a quiet nod.

“Yeah. I think that makes more sense. Somehow. Galra on earth. Kitschy roadside America.”

“I mean, Keith was here, right?”

“Oh, the  _ kitschiest _ of weird kitschy roadside America.”

Pidge let out a soft huff in response.

She had a bit of a funny idea, thinking back to their earlier conversation. An idea that was, probably, a really terrible idea, but it wasn’t really much of an idea if it had any chance of going well.

“Hey, I want your opinion on something.” Pidge said after a moment, feeling a bit freer as phase one of her weird terrible idea was being put into play. Lance raised a brow at her, prompting her to continue.

“Let’s call Hunk. And go see him.”

Lance turned the wheel a little too hard. Pidge yelped, hands flailing to catch the grab-handle above her as he pulled themselves off the highway and onto the side, pulling the gearshift into park.

“Dude!” She barked, knuckles turning white in her grip. Lance was staring at her, and she almost didn’t notice his own whitening grip on the steering wheel. “You could’ve killed us!”

“I--yeah. I’m sorry. You surprised me.” Lance said quickly, looking between her and the wheel.

“Surprise is like, the  _ worst _ word to describe how you just reacted.” Pidge managed to say after a shaky breath, hands detaching themselves from the grab-handle to grab onto each other in her lap, fingers fidgety. “What, you don’t want to see him or?”

Lance grimaced a little, twisting his head. “Uh, or. I’d love to see Hunk. But like, he probably won’t want to see me.”

Pidge’s gaze sobered, eyes focused on the back of his head. “You… did you have a falling out or something?”

“Kind of.”

He wasn’t looking at her, which kind of hurt Pidge more than she’d like to admit. To be honest, she couldn’t think of any reason why Lance and Hunk were on bad terms. She didn’t know or hear about bad blood between them.

Then again, she didn’t talk about her problems, either.

“What happened, Lance?”

His shoulders tensed at the question. Of course, Pidge would understand. She’d understand better than Dr. Kaur, whose reaction to the story was clinical, medicinal. And although Lance appreciated her doctor perspective, sometimes he wished he had a more subjective opinion. Pidge’s opinion.

He slumped back in defeat, looking at Pidge, trying to read her expression. Concern, duh. She had a long list of reasons to be concerned.

_ Form Voltron, _ Lance thought, despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

“We wanted to hang out, uh, I dunno. Definitely ten years ago. Maybe nine. Hunk wanted to check out this foodie festival.”

Pidge offered a smile at the words, a silent hint of approval and a gesture to keep going.

“He was still in the area, you know? Staying with his grandparents before leaving for university. I was the closest person, so we went. And that was fun, because people still cared about Voltron and still wanted autographs and shit.”

A snort. “You were signing autographs?”

“Between eating fried oreos, hell yeah. It was… kind of nice. You know. We talked about him going off to college, and that was good. But then… I guess things got weird.”

Pidge’s eyes hardened at the statement. “Weird how?”

He hesitated a bit longer than he should’ve.

“Hunk was thinking about going on an expedition beyond the solar system. One of those long term ones. Twenty years, I think. He wanted to hear my thoughts.”

Pidge’s face didn’t change at the reveal, and Lance wondered if somehow she knew about it all along.

“What’d you say?”

“I said he’d be ruining his life.”

A cold silence passed. Pidge sat up on her knees, leaning behind her to fiddle with the cooler, uncovering a water bottle from the bed of ice.

“Why would you ever say that, Lance?”

He thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. It was totally spur of the moment. I think I was just kind of hurt that he didn’t want to stay here.”

“You care a lot. I get that. But, jeez, what did you think saying that was going to do besides alienate him?”

Lance pressed his head against the steering wheel in response. “Maybe prove that I care too fucking much.”

Pidge hesitated for a second.

“In my opinion, that’s pretty okay, Lance.”

Another moment of hesitation, when she realized he wasn’t going to respond to that.

And it was both odd and comforting, when Pidge’s hand came over and touched his. Icy cold and wet from holding the water. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, tugging it a little from the wheel. Lance turned his head to glance at her smaller hand on top of his, studying the chipping dark blue nail polish on her fingers.

It pulled at his heartstrings.

“I mean, I don’t think what you said was okay. But you had good intentions. And Hunk’s definitely prone to holding grudges, but he probably misses you a lot more than that.”

Reassuring. She was strangely pretty okay at that.

He dared to glance further in the direction of her voice, to look at her face. Round eyes staring hard at him with rapt attention and concern in her gaze. She was perched rather uncomfortably in her seat, leaning forward across the center console on her knees, one hand balancing herself on the compartment, the other on him, on him, on him.

Eyes on him.

Pidge broke into an amused grin, mirth sparkling in her eyes.

“Are you done pouting? You’re staring at me pretty hard, Lance.”

“How the hell do you keep doing that?”

She cocked her head to the side in surprise, brows furrowing. Her voice dropped.

“Doing what?”

“Making me feel okay even when I don’t think I am.”

Pidge paused, thinking.

“I’m not doing anything, Lance. You’re doing that all on your own.”

“Okay, but you’re helping a little.”

“Then,” Pidge let out a breath, leaning back down into her seat, clicking her seatbelt on. “Likewise. You make me feel pretty okay, too. So, thank you for that.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Lance let out a shaky exhale, throwing the car into drive.

_ Form Voltron. _

“Okay, let’s call Hunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whewwwwwwwwww. this was a harder chapter to write, haha. thank u so much for readin  
> (next time: it's hunk!!!!!)


	10. Old Rhythm

Hunk was a god-awful liar, and he honestly would’ve gotten away with it if it wasn’t for the fact that Pidge could see-or, in this case, hear- right through his bullshit.

“You don’t have anyone coming over tonight, you liar.”

“I mean, you, uh, never really know, right?”

He walked right into that one.

“You’re  _ exactly _ right. So Lance and I will be crashing, cool?”

Luckily for him, the aforementioned Pidge and Lance weren’t actually due for another couple of days. Lots of open road for them to be travelling. Sure, Hunk had a lot of questions. He had, probably, a bajillion questions, but Pidge insisted she didn’t have enough data to tell him over the phone, and that he could stand to wait roughly twenty-nine hours for her ‘Ode to Road.’

It was a damn clever name, and hearing the joke made Hunk feel a lot less anxious about their ten year reunion. A reunion he honestly didn’t expect, ever, in his life.

He already moved on, Hunk mused as he fumbled with scrubbing the pans that had collected in his sink over the last few days. He moved on, even though it took a little while to get used to the emptiness and loneliness and not being able to call Pidge after he woke up from a bad dream. He moved on, even if he had to shift and adjust to a world that was always one step ahead of him in looking towards tomorrow rather than reflecting on yesterday.

He moved on.

It was a few hours later when Hunk could collapse into the dingy couch in his small apartment, feeling a bit more relieved after scrubbing and brushing and wiping things down. He liked being busy, liked busy work and doing things with his hands. It kept him distracted, kept him grounded. An illusion of safety when things felt more than unsafe.

It was then that Weblum came trotting up, jowls dripping saliva, settling into the space between Hunk’s feet. He leaned down, running a hand across the bulldog’s fur, emitting a low whistle.

He wondered how Lance and Pidge were doing. Even if he was getting an explanation on why they were showing up together (or showing up at all), he wondered if that meant a little something more.

He always secretly thought something was there.

He checked the time on his phone, frowning, scratching at stubble he didn’t really mean to be growing out.

He should probably shave.

 

“You were supposed to turn left there,” Pidge said coolly, a hand pressed against her cheek, the other looking at Maps on her phone.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t backseat drive, Pidge.”

“This is shotgun, and in case you haven’t noticed, I have both the address  _ and _ the directions.” She waved her phone, a small grin forming on her lips. Lance let out a sigh, leaning back into his seat as Pidge rattled off the next wave of turns and street names.

“You look tense.” Pidge said after another moment, eyebrows furrowed in his direction. “Nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? Please.”

(Lance was, quite frankly, very nervous.)

After all, Hunk was his best friend. Emphasis on the ‘was.’ He wasn’t even sure what he should say, if he should say anything at all. Was he supposed to just shake his hand? Or would a hug be appropriate?

“Turn here.”

Lance did, surprised to find himself turning into an apartment complex. Nothing special. So… uncomfortably normal, tall brown buildings with staircases and gated front doors and balconies filled with things ranging from billowing tapestries to ficuses.

_ What if he was supposed to bring Hunk a ficus? _

Pidge was texting again, a frown on her face. “He said he’s in 2C but he’ll be coming down to meet us.”

“Oh? That’s sweet of him.”

“Yeah. Uh, are you okay?”

Lance let out a low whistle, finding a parking space in front of the alleged second building. “Totally okay. You?”

“I’m a little terrified.”

He turned off the ignition, turning to face Pidge, surprised to find her sitting ramrod straight, thumbs twiddling, face contorted.

“Terrified, huh?”

“Yeah. I don’t think…” She hesitated, and her head dropped to stare at her hands.

Lance did the only thing that he knew. A simple grab of her fists between his, squeezing her hands in reassurance, forcing Pidge to turn to face him with only mild surprise and intense appreciation in her gaze.

“Listen, I know your whole  _ brand _ is thinking, but sometimes, you need to relax and take things as they come.”

Pidge squeezed back.

“Hey Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”

They sat there for a brief second in silence, hands holding onto each other like letting go would cause them to drift apart at sea. A final squeeze of reassurance, when Lance saw a figure emerging from around the building, and his hands left hers to open the door and slide out to yell towards the not-so stranger.

Pidge was surprised to find the warmth of Lance’s hands still lingering on her palms.

She stepped out too, gentle to shut the passenger door and lean against it, hovering a distance away as Hunk got closer and she could see him better.

He didn’t change much, save for stubble on his chin and a shorter haircut, bangs shorter and more manageable than the retro style he donned as a teen. His arms were spread wide in greeting, a smile on his lips that, Pidge was surprised to find, didn’t meet his eyes.

She gave a sheepish wave back. Lance went first to meet him.

“Dude, you look hot!” Lance quipped, moving to greet Hunk in a hug before hesitation kicked in and Lance’s arms stuck closer to his chest. Hunk smiled, outstretching a hand to Lance’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze in greeting.

“You look like you haven’t aged a day.”

“It’s my morning routine, babe. I age in reverse.”

They shared a laugh, and Pidge smiled to herself at the exchange.

For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.

Then Pidge caught him. Lance. Ready to say something, anything, but deciding against it. Pidge still telepathically cheered him on. She figured they’d been together long enough that he’d hear it.

He wasn’t going to. Pidge cleared her throat to move on.

“Hi Hunk.”

Hunk whipped his head, his expression softening ten-folds at the sight of her. “Pidge.”

Oh, and that was enough for Pidge to bolt around the car and right into him.

Hunk let out a wheeze as soon as Pidge hit him, and she definitely didn’t care as her arms squeezed as tight as they could around his frame, burying her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of, to her pleasant surprise, rocket fuel exhaust. And his hands were warm in hugging her back, and she was a bit satisfied to see he could still lift her into a dizzying spin that caused her heart to ache.

She missed him.

“You look good! You smell like you haven’t showered in a week, but otherwise pretty good for car hobos.

Pidge nodded, the exhaustion finally hitting her as she lifted her arms to sniff at her clothes. He was right. The scent of not showering for a few days.

“It’s a statement,” Pidge finally said, grinning up at him. “But, uh, I’d love to use your shower.”

“Please use my shower. I’ll pay you to.”

The jokes came easy, flowing out of the three of them like a babbling creek, a non-stop train of thought as Hunk helped carry their overnights up the stairs to his apartment, then glancing down at the pair as they stood in the stairwell, Hunk’s hand on the door, Lance bringing up the rear with Pidge’s duffel.

“Uh, so you guys are okay with dogs, right?”

Lance and Pidge exchanged a glance, then looked back at Hunk, grins on their faces and stars in their eyes.

“You have a dog and you’re only now telling us?!” Pidge asked, bouncing slightly where she was standing. Lance put a hand out to catch her in case she tripped down the steps in her excitement.

“Yes Hunk, this is a pro-dog family.”

And this time, Pidge was glad to see a smile that really did reach his eyes.

“Make yourselves at home.” Hunk said, stepping aside to let in his guests before following, unsurprised by the barks coming from his beloved bulldog. “Weblum! Calm down there, buddy. These guys are friends.”

Pidge was already crouching, hands outstretched to welcome the dog, turning her head to acknowledge Hunk. “Weblum, huh?”

“Oh yeah. He’ll eat anything. Even the biggest dead planets.”

Pidge grinned up at him in response.

Lance took a moment to breathe in the air. It smelled like pizza, which Lance traced back to the pizza baking in the oven of Hunk’s kitchen. The apartment looked fairly… quaint. Lived in, if the suds-filled sink and gently-stained carpet was any indication. There was a singular couch in the main living space, a coffee table in front of it covered in study materials and crushed cans of Red Bull. A stereo sat across from it. Hunk had a ficus, which Lance was sort of relieved to find.

“Take a seat you guys. Dinner’s on me.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less.”

“Actually,” Pidge stood up, hands on her knees as she left Weblum’s side, a hand running through thick honey-toned hair that curled and waved after a couple of days being tied back into Lance’s french braid. “Is it cool if I shower right now?”

Hunk nodded as he adjusted his oven mitts, wiggling his fingers to fit into the bright yellow mitts. “Yeah. It’s in my room, door on the left.”

Pidge gave a thumbs up, gathered up her bag, and--Lance saw this coming--grabbed him by the wrist to follow her into the hall.

“Are you inviting me to join you?” Lance quipped despite himself. Pidge rolled her eyes, lowering her voice.

“I know it’s not my place but I think now’s a good time to bring up your… mistake.”

“‘Mistake’ is a light way of putting it.”

There was no hint of humor in the way she was looking at him, brows furrowed. Her hands, tentative and slow, reached up and held his cheeks.

That gave him some courage.

“You don’t want to let the guilt eat at you forever, Lance.”

Damn her, for being so smart and so right. “I-I know.”

“So will you do it? If not for yourself, for Hunk? Me?  _ Weblum?” _

He placed his large hands over her own, pulling them away from his face and standing up straighter.

“Maybe Weblum.”

“Good enough. You know where to find me.”

“You know, you never really declined my presence in your shower.”

Pidge stuck her tongue out in good nature, stepping behind Hunk’s bedroom door and letting it gently shut into his forehead. Lance found himself letting out a hard sigh, tapping his fingers against the frame of the door before stepping back and returning to the living space. Hunk was busy rolling a pie-cutter through his creation.

“Dude, you have no idea how much I’ve missed your cooking.”

Hunk gave him a tired smile, holding up the pie-cutter with a delicate shrug. “I mean, I haven’t cooked for myself in a while, either. So this was nice. Thanks for coming.”

Silence settled like dust. Lance tapped his foot against the tile, anxiety pulsing through him as Hunk opened the cabinets to prep for lunch.

“Hey, uh, we should talk about that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing I said to you, before we stopped talking. Foodie Fest?”

The clatter of utensils stopped, and Lance winced at the silence.

“Oh.  _ That _ thing.”

“I need to tell you I’m sor--”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I got over it.”

Lance’s jaw was still open, eyebrows raising as Hunk looked over at him, stacking plates onto the tile counter with gentle clinks.

“You… You, Hunk Garrett, _ got over it?” _

A light chuckle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You used to hold grudges over the  _ dumbest shit _ and you  _ know it.” _

He raised a plate as if to inspect it for dust, pursing his lips.

“Maybe I grew out of that.”

“Okay, what the shit-fuck--”

Hunk held up a hand to stop him. “If it makes you feel better to apologize, go ahead.”

“I don’t want to just apologize, Hunk, I want to tell you that you have to go. If space is where your dreams are headed, then you shouldn’t force yourself to stay here and-and…” 

His anger died as quickly as it sparked, and Lance looked around the apartment, suddenly and completely aware that, for the first time, he didn’t know a damn thing about his best friend.

Hunk shrugged, noncommittal. Lance was pretty sure he was going into cardiac arrest.

“You were right, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“I would’ve ruined my life. I mean, wasn’t that pretty dumb? I get home from saving the universe, something that scared the shit out of me daily, and the first thing I wanted to do was get back on another ship and leave. I mean, I can’t just be some universe-traversing hero forever. You gave me a reality check.”

Hunk fell quiet. Lance wished he could sigh without it sounding so vulnerable.

“Fuck reality checks.” It came out soft.

“What?”

“I said, _ fuck _ reality checks. What I said was stupid. I said that, because I was  _ terrified,  _ Hunk. I was scared you were going to leave and die up there alone and that was the only thing I thought about when you showed me the brochure.”

“Lance?”

“No. Let me finish. I know you were scared. We all were. But, Jesus, you still did it. You saved the universe, you were brave as hell, I’m sorry I was a teenage dickhead, and, by the way, I love you. There. You made me say that I love you, asshole.”

Hunk fell quiet, brown eyes staring hard at Lance’s face. He forgot that Lance could do that. That he could be serious and supportive, and wildly genuine in giving things to Hunk straight.

He missed his best friend.

Hunk passed him the plates.

“Love you too, former teenage dickhead. Go set the table.”

 

-

 

It didn’t take long to recount Pidge and Lance’s reunion to Hunk, of course, with certain details omitted from the story to spare their best friend. Hunk was attentive, as usual, between slices of pizza, laughing whenever Lance interjected with a joke.

Pidge shot Lance a look, one that asked if things were okay.

Lance grinned back.

“So, what’s your plan after crashing here?” Hunk asked, standing to clean away their plates, surprised to see Lance and Pidge standing in unison with him. The gesture made him laugh.

“No idea. I still think Disneyland should be on the docket.” Lance said, maneuvering around the big guy to take the plates in his hands and stand over the sink.

“Lance, you’re a guest. Let me do the dishes.”

“Compromise: you wash, I dry?”

“Better compromise,” Pidge had walked around Hunk, putting an arm on his elbow and leading him towards the sink. “I scrub, Hunk rinses, Lance dries.”

No arguments were made against that as three sets of hands maneuvered around each other, giggling and hissing out friendly banter as silverware and porcelain went down the assembly line.

“So, the couch is actually a pull-out bed.” Hunk said casually, rinsing the suds out of a glass. Pidge scoffed. “I’m just saying! It’d be better than one of you guys taking the floor.”

“Why? Is the floor… lava?” Lance said with a satisfied grin. Hunk splashed water at him, eliciting a hard laugh.

“Pidge, you know you’ve been travelling with a five year old?”

“Oh, god, don’t even get me started.”

The start of a protest came from Lance, quickly squandered by a hip-check from Hunk. A hip-check in return.

And between the three of them, although none of them would say, they were grateful for how easy it was to find their old rhythm.

 

-

 

“You ever think about Shay?”

Hunk was surprised by the question, tearing his eyes away from the night sky to regard Pidge.

“What?”

She shrugged, tilting her head to the side, running a hand through her hair. “Just a question, Hunk.”

After dinner and a quick game of Uno, Pidge managed to force Lance to take a shower. Once that was taken care of, she found herself sitting in a wicker seat on the balcony of Hunk’s apartment, a cheap bottle of beer in her hands, and with an old friend gazing up at the stars on a particularly cloudless night.

A shrug. “Sometimes. I mean, she was…” His voice died, and he took a long drink.

Pidge stared up at the sky, too.

“I think about you guys a lot more than an old girlfriend, actually.”

“Aw,” Pidge said, raising her beer in a joking toast. “Thanks. You too, buddy.”

A short laugh, followed by Hunk raising his beer in response.

“So do you do this a lot? Sit here and look at the sky?”

“You got better ideas?”

“No, but I mean… this far into the city, we aren’t really seeing much.”

“Oh, seeing’s only half the story, Pidge.” He tapped a finger against his forehead. “The other half is knowing they’re still there despite that.”

She didn’t argue with that.

“So, what have you been up to, Hunk?”

“Uh, embarrassing, but mechanical engineering at the Garrison branch here. Mostly vehicles. Mostly the ships.”

A smile played at her lips. “Knew it. You’ve made it.”

“I wouldn’t call ‘triple-checking that the engine won’t explode and kill us all’ making it, exactly, but yeah. I guess I’m doing pretty okay.”

“Just pretty okay?”

He swirled the remaining beer in his glass, inspecting it. “Yeah. I mean, I’m grateful. I’ll take ‘pretty okay’ over anything else.”

She pursed her lips, leaning back into the wicker, listening to it as it creaked beneath her weight. “... Me too.”

“Actually, on that subject, I’ve been meaning to say thanks for showing up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Feels like I could start saying that I’m doing good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! this chapter was very hunk-centric but :"))) we all needed this amiright  
> we'll be back to regularly scheduled plance antics soon wink wink


	11. Reluctance in Letting Go

Pidge wasn’t afraid of waking up because of her nightmares.

It wasn’t rare, for her to wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dribbling down her neck while her lungs ceased to work. It wasn’t rare, for Pidge to clamber out of bed and run to the bathroom to throw up or cry or both. It had been nightly, a few years ago, then dropped to every other day, then once every four or five days. Pidge was used to bad dreams and feeling worse after. That was the worst part that remained, after Voltron. The nightmares.

Pidge wasn’t used to good dreams. Or not dreaming at all. Those were the rare nights.

And it was especially rare to wake up, warm and comfortable. Her heart rate at ease, inklings of sunlight cutting through blinds and sinking into the shapes of blankets and pillows and the grey of a couch. It smelled like pancakes. There was a soft sizzle of something hitting a pan, an even softer whistle to not disturb her from her torpor.

Her arms were wrapped around something, Pidge realized as the lethargy left her senses. Something that made her feel incredibly warm.

Lance’s face was pressed against her chest.

Pidge bit her lip to stop herself from crying out.

It was probably in the middle of the night while they were sleeping, of course, obviously, when they betrayed their ‘don’t-cross-the-pillow’ rule and entangled their limbs together. Lance wouldn’t do this in consciousness. Pidge knew she moved a lot when she slept, so she was easily a culprit too.

Even worse, Hunk was awake, and he did  _ nothing.  _

How dare he.

She became more aware of Lance’s arms, one draped over her hip, the other pressing into her stomach. Pidge wormed her legs out from their crossing with Lance’s. She let out a tense sigh. The warmth was getting too unbearable.

She didn’t want to sweat on him, jesus fuck no, but her palms were already perspiring as she slid out from Lance’s hold.

The pull-out was uncomfortably creaky. Lance was a very, very deep sleeper.

Pidge felt like a fucking champ when she finally shimmied soundlessly from the bed, her knees touching carpet in relief. She stood up slow, spreading her arms to keep balance.

“G’morning.”

And just like that, Pidge slammed her calf into the metal frame of the pull-out.

“Hunk!” She managed to hiss as her face contorted in pain, hands grasping at her calf, bouncing on one foot, brows furrowed. Hunk didn’t seem to be phased by the spectacle. In fact, damn him, he looked like he was thoroughly entertained.

“Did you sleep well?”

A harrowed sigh passed her lips. “I… Yeah. I slept well. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, good. I was worried the pull-out wouldn’t be comfortable.”

“Compared to sleeping in my car? It’s like a cloud.”

Hunk was beaming at her, all warmth and sunlight and joy. He gestured to the counter, or more specifically, the stack of pancakes and eggs on the counter.

“Okay, come eat. You like coffee, right?”

 

It was only another fifteen-ish before Lance woke up, groaning as he forced himself to sit up.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” There was a languid softness in the way she spoke, like she wanted to sound sarcastic but instead sounded so terribly fond.

“Pidge, it’s way too early to patronize me.”

“Well, you gotta get up. We gotta put the couch back together.”

“Ugh. Only you could make me work at this hour.”

He finally turned to scrutinize Pidge, who stood arms crossed in front of the window, blocking out the sun. Her hair was pulled back, and she was dressed and ready for a day of travel. She was smirking at him in her usual fashion. And she looked good. Put together. Content.

For the first time since they reunited, Pidge Holt looked at home.

Lance wondered if she was thinking the same thing about him.

It took a few minutes of making the bed and pushing it back into a couch shape, but as soon as the work was done, Lance flopped backwards into the worm suede cushions, a groan passing his lips.

“How’d you sleep, Lance?” Hunk asked, making himself comfortable on Lance’s right, warmth and the scent of coffee radiating off of him. Lance grinned.

“Like a baby.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.” Pidge quipped as she squeezed herself on Lance’s other side, pulling her knees up to her chest, her cheeks dusted pink.

“What? Was I not a model bunkmate?”

From the other side, Hunk let out a snort. And it became clear to Lance that Pidge and Hunk knew something he didn’t.

Lance racked his brain. He started sleepwalking, recently. Or maybe the two of them knew something Lance did not. Was it a prank? Did his closest, most trusted confidantes pull a prank on him in his sleep?

Lance made a beeline for the bathroom.

Pidge gave Hunk a hard look.

“So, what’s up with you two?” Hunk finally asked the question she was waiting for, coolly, despite Hunk’s inability to keep a poker face.

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying…” She trailed off when Hunk shrugged.

“Me? Implying anything? Well, I don’t know. I mean, you  _ did _ have a--”

“I was a teenager. We were teenagers! Hormonal and junk. It’s not like I had a bunch of  _ options. _ I could’ve had a crush on you.”

Hunk didn’t even try to conceal the amusement in his look. “Really?”

Pidge was, as always, very candid. “Really.”

A beat passed in silence, save for the sound of running water through the walls of the apartment. Weblum had plopped himself down at Hunk’s feet, soft snores escaping the small dog. Hunk let out a low whistle.

“Pidge, you don’t have to listen to my advice. But I think you can allow yourself to take chances. And there’s always going to be an excuse not to.”

“What?” She hated sounding so shocked. Pidge wasn’t good with shock. Hunk looked away from her, and she could already tell he was going to ignore her question.

“There’s a sort-of hiking spot just a couple hours out of this town, should be on your turnaround route. The stars out there? It brings you home.”

Pidge hesitated, staring at his profile, his gaze fixated, not straight ahead, but down at the coffee table, a brochure Pidge never noticed before laid flat in front of them. She squinted to read the font.

 

_ BEYOND THE KUIPER BELT _

_ Join us for an expedition of a lifetime! _

_ MORE INFO INSIDE _

 

The pieces clicked. She stole another look at Hunk.

“There’s always going to be an excuse not to,” came out as a whisper, but it was enough.

Hunk let himself smile.

 

\--

 

Lance leaned hard against the bathroom door, staring at his reflection.

To his surprise, his friends did not betray his trust and not a drop of ink was on his face.

Unlike, once, back on the castleship. He remembered how long it took to wash off the Coran-like mustache from his upper lip. Lance learned to take naps in his bunk.

A hand went up to rub at his temple, while the other fished for his cellphone.

Two missed calls. Both Mom.

He needed to take a second to wash his face, wipe the sleep clean from his eyes before he could even dream of calling his mother.

He hated the idea of worrying her, keeping things from her. Lance wasn’t good at not calling home. He’s had his fair share of rebellion, of course, but after Voltron…

Lance dialed her, quickly, pressing his phone to his ear as he slid down to the bathroom tiles. His legs were almost too long to sit comfortably.

She answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Mama--”

“Lance!” The cry came through clear, slicing through whatever clouds still lingered in his head. She was speaking Spanish, the words rumbling from her chest and sounding as wet as rain, and so, so fast, that Lance could barely keep up in what she was shouting.

A lot of ‘come home.’ A lot of ‘I love you.’

His heart was beginning to ache.

“I’m safe, Mama.” Lance said, once his mother’s voice died down and was replaced by quiet sniffling. “Sorry to not say anything before just… leaving.”

“You have so much explaining to do. Aria was worried sick.”

“I’m sorry. I…” He hesitated. “I wasn’t thinking. Tell Aria I’m okay.”

“You can tell her yourself. Where are you?”

“Hunk’s place.”

A pause.

“You went all the way out to Hunk?”

“I’m with Pidge.”

A soft curse in Spanish. Then an almost approving, “I liked that girl. How is she?”

“She’s good! We’re good. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I don’t fully understand why you just…”

“I had to. I think I had to.”

Another pause.

“Okay. I trust you. I love you.”

Lance let out a shaky sigh, and despite himself, tears welled up in his eyes. “I love you too. I have to go, but tell everyone I’m okay, okay? I’m fine.”

“Okay. And Lance?”

“Yeah?”

He could imagine his mother smiling, bright and warm and full of life.

“Abuela’s not very happy to hear she passed.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh. He was almost reluctant to hang up.

And he took another look at himself in the mirror, taking the time to reduce the puffiness around his eyes. He didn’t need Pidge and Hunk to worry. 

Lance wasn’t worried.

 

-

 

“Eat as many pancakes as you want,” Hunk’s tone was relaxed, gesturing towards the medium-sized stack on the counter. Lance heard his stomach growl in appreciation.

“God, thank you.”

The room grew quiet, as Lance set himself to eating breakfast while Hunk did dishes and Pidge was looking things up on her phone. There was a quiet clink of utensil against porcelain, the sound of rushing water from the faucet, a gentle ping whenever Pidge got a notification.

“So, what’s the plan, Pidge?” Lance broke the silence, his face turned in Pidge’s direction. She looked up from her device, fluttering her eyes at him as she snapped back into reality.

“Uh, travel? Southbound.”

“I was telling Pidge about this great lookout outside of town,” Hunk suddenly interjected, and, by the looks of it, Pidge had half a mind to lunge over the couch and tackle him.

“Really? Tell me more.” Lance propped his elbows up on the table, pushing his plate away from him, raising his brows at Hunk. Pidge turned her death-glare towards him.

Boy, was that honestly refreshing to feel.

“It’s mostly a camping spot, but I figured you guys wouldn’t want to travel the whole time. Take rest breaks and junk. It’s up a mountain so you’ll definitely lose travel time, but, hey, I think it’s worth it.”

“How’d you find out about this place?”

Hunk gestured at himself, snorting. “Uh, local? And I take Weblum out there, sometimes, when I need to get away from the city.”

Lance pointedly looked at Pidge, who was prepared for this. A staredown. A pleading look versus one of pure murderous intent.

“Can we?”

“I’ve charted our route. We have no time.”

“Pidge, where’s the fun in following routes when we could be  _ spontaneous?” _

“How about I spontaneously leave you here?”

Lance opened his mouth to retaliate. But then, he had a better idea.

Her keys were right there. On the counter. Out in the open, for anyone to grab.

Hunk recognized the expression on his face before Pidge could.

Lance lunged first, almost knocking over his chair as he did, almost hitting his head against the granite counter as he scooped up the jingle of keys, raising them high above his head while Pidge released a scandalized gasp.

“Oh, you’re an  _ asshat!” _

“Come on, Pidge. You drove most of the way up here. Rest.”

“I’ve rested! I’m geared to go! It’s  _ my _ car!”

She was pressed against his chest, one hand reaching lamely towards her keys, the other gripping his shirt in her fist, pulling him down to her height.

“Hey, hey! You’re gonna stretch my collar.”

“Like I care, Mister I’m-So-Tall-and-Cheat-at-Keep-Away!”

She gave a pointed look at Hunk, who busied himself with clearing away Lance’s plate.

“Hunk!”

Hunk gave her a bemused grin in response.

Lance spun out of her grasp.

“Sorry, Pidge. But in my family, whoever has the keys first is the driver.”

Pidge dropped her hands, staring hard at him.

“I’m not--”

“Sorry, did you already forget?”

The memory resurfaced, along with heat across her face.

Pidge was prepared for all situations. She came up with ten arguments, twelve different scenarios to snatch the keys away from Lance.

That, however, Pidge forgot to prepare for.

Lance tossed the keys between his hands, and Pidge came back to the situation, aware of the jangle of metal as he passed them around.

“You’re so dumb.” Pidge finally said, in defeat. And to Lance’s joy, there wasn’t a hint of malice. Only bemusement. Affection. Her lips had curved into a smile.

“So, does that mean we get to check out Hunk’s little camp lookout spot?” He dangled the keys in front of her nose. She opened a palm beneath them as Lance let them drop.

“Twenty minutes at most.”

God, did he love feeling like a winner. He looked over at Hunk, pumping his fist into the air.

“Check this shit out, Hunk! I won!”

“I don’t know if I’d call that a win. More of a truce?”

“Shush. You’re gonna ruin the moment.”

 

They spent the rest of the late morning packing, carrying duffles back to Pidge’s car, chattering away about the weather, the town, whatever topic found it's harmonious way into the flow of conversation.

Hunk pulled Lance aside, while Pidge skipped back up the stairs to the apartment, warmth in his deep, dark eyes.

“Hey, so I have something to tell you.”

Lance didn’t say anything, only nodding and folding his arms over his chest. Hunk let out a content sigh.

“I was thinking about it all night. Leaving Earth again.”

Words Lance didn’t expect to hear, to say the least. He bit back an upset retort.

“There’s a mission leaving the solar system. And, uh, I don’t know. I could be gone a really, really long time.”

“How long?” Lance finally asked. Hunk shrugged.

“Twenty years.”

A beat of silence passed, and Hunk reached out to touch Lance’s arm.

“Hey, you alright? Think I should risk it?”

It was then that Lance dragged his best friend in for a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of maple syrup and fabric softener.

“Man, you’d be an idiot not to risk it.”

Hunk let out a laugh, low and bittersweet.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

“You have to call me every day though.”

“No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Aw, can I join?” Pidge’s voice came from the top of the stairs, beaming down at her two closest friends in a tight embrace. Hunk extended an arm, gesturing her down.

“The more the merrier! Group hug time.”

And she was a lot shorter than the both of them, but wouldn’t complain about being sandwiched in warmth, giggling despite herself as they stood in a tight embrace in front of an old apartment building. There was reluctance in letting go.

“Okay, before I forget,” Hunk had exclaimed, running back upstairs and back down, shoving a gallon bag into Lance’s arms. “I made sandwiches for the road.”

“You’re going to make me cry.” Lance replied, raising the bag to his nose, hoping to somehow catch the smell through a wall of plastic.

“Please don’t cry on our lunch,” Pidge said, bumping her hip to his, a small smile on her face. “We should get going. Burning daylight.”

“Right, right.”

And yet, neither of them moved, for a good moment, instead staring at Hunk, who stared right back, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

“You know we don’t have to say goodbye, right?” Hunk finally said, looking between the two. “I sure don’t.”

“God, I feel like if I don’t say something, though, I’m going to think about it for the next ten years.” Pidge retorted, and she found herself leaning into Lance, who leaned right back into her.

“Okay. So, an alternate to goodbye?” Hunk offered.

“Yeah. Like, uh, ‘in a while, crocodile.’” said Lance.

“Or, you know, ‘see you soon’?” said Pidge.

“Or how about just… thank you.” It was soft and honest and very Hunk.

Pidge and Lance mirrored his smile.

“Thank you.”

 

\--

 

_ “Africa _ by Toto is a classic, Pidge.”

Pidge didn’t respond, only sticking her tongue out in Lance’s direction, who was watching her with a lazy gaze, phone in his hand.

The song looped for a fourth time.

_ I hear the drums echoing tonight… _

Pidge turned her head when she realized Lance’s voice was joining in on vocals.

“You’re  _ not.” _

“Oh, come on! Like you don’t know the words. It’s a classic.”

_ “You’re _ a classic.”

Lance stopped his melody, staring hard at her profile, a snicker on his lips. “That may be your worst comeback yet.”

She didn’t respond, only turning the volume up higher.

Lance retaliated, twisting the knob back down. “No, no. Okay, I know that look. You’re distracted. That’s why your comebacks are ass.”

“Solid observation, Lance.”

He gave a short bow. “Thank you. I try.”

His voice came back more sincere. “But seriously, are you alright, Pidge?”

They were at least an hour’s gone from Hunk’s house, back on the road, following a printed out map to find the campgrounds Hunk had described to them.

Pidge was excited, mostly, for the campgrounds. But what she wasn’t excited about was the fact that they had about five days left on their journey home, and…

And she still didn’t have anything figured out. Her soul? Unsearched. Her conscious? Still heavy. And whatever she was looking for?

She had no idea if she found it yet.

And that was the worst part, knowing that she was on her way home. On her way back to a life that was only half-fulfilling and sad and littered with office work and numbers upon numbers and a sense that she wasn’t actually alive. And Pidge still didn’t know what the fuck was missing or how to find it.

Lance was touching her elbow, a gentle prod.

“Pidge?”

“I’m fine,” came the response, and Pidge found herself pumping the gas. “Twelve miles, we should see the off road to the campsite, right?”

Lance was quiet, save for the sound of crinkling paper. “Yeah. Sounds right.”

And it was. And the road was bumpy and not-asphalt, and Pidge found herself stopping in the middle of the dirt road after a particularly nasty bump.

And try as she might, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“You okay?”

“Reminds me too much of flying.”

“Oh.” Lance unbuckled his seatbelt. “Would you be okay sitting passenger side?”

She gave a hard nod, already stumbling out of the driver’s seat, stepping far away from it.

It was like a cockpit. Glowing green and simulating the feeling of canon fire in her direction.

She blinked, and the memory left her, and instead Lance was standing in place of Altean technology, cool hands pressing against her cheeks.

“Hey, Holt. Come back to me.”

A gentle pat against freckled skin. Her hands jumped up to grab his wrists, exhaling.

“Yeah. Sorry. It just…”

“Took you back?”

“I don’t go offroading that often.”

“Technically, this is still a road. A bumpy one, but a road.”

She gave a hard nod, grateful for the reassurance.

“If you don’t want to drive, I can do it. After all, I  _ am _ one of the greatest pilots in the universe. Driving’s like threading a needle.”

Pidge couldn’t help but laugh at the inside joke, a ten year joke that somehow withstood the test of time. She squeezed his wrists in goodwill.

“Thanks, tailor.”

She wasn’t quite sure how he was able to do that. How Lance McClain was able to make her feel just a little bit more brave.

_ Africa  _ was still playing on his damn phone.

Pidge turned up the volume.

 

It wasn’t even sunset when they reached Hunk’s lookout. Lance pulled in, emitting a low whistle as he did.

“Oh, he wasn’t exaggerating the view.”

The desert landscape dipped into the horizon, a burnt orange, steppes and rock formations carving into the earth below. The campgrounds were shaded by tall pines, the scent almost intoxicating. Pine and dirt and underbrush under a clear blue sky, the sun edging it's way towards the horizon line.

“We have like, an hour to kill before sunset. Want one of Hunk’s sandwiches?” Lance offered, and Pidge gave a nod, staring hard out at the view.

“We should eat outside. The day’s too nice to waste.”

“You mean, our twenty minute time limit’s too little to waste?” Lance said, pointedly.

Pidge stared at him, taking a moment to remember the curve of his nose, the tan of his skin, the dark blue pools in his eyes that twinkled with mischief and humor.

“I was thinking about that. No one’s going to miss us if we’re a day late getting back.”

Lance’s expression morphed in seconds to a genuine grin.

“You’re gonna take a risk like that?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Not as well as I used to.”

They opened their doors simultaneously, Lance tossing her a sandwich bag and an ice cold water, moving with ease to sit on the hood of her car. Pidge cocked her head when he patted the metal sheet.

“Care to join me?”

She did.

Hunk’s sandwiches were delicious, and her heart filled with nostalgia between bites of cucumber and hummus.

Lance got a phone call, in the middle of their impromptu dinner. Pidge raised a brow at him as he checked caller ID.

“Sorry. It’s Dr. Kaur.”

“Go answer her, Lance.”

Lance slid off with ease, rushing to hit the green answer button as he followed the downward trail, away from Pidge and the lookout.

“Lance?”

“Hey. Hey! Sorry, I’m in the woods.”

A pause from the other end, followed by a concerned, “the woods?”

“Yeah. Long story. Kind of. Wh-what’s up?”

“Well, I decided to check in. We haven’t talked in a few of days.”

Lance ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You’re right. I should be keeping tabs with you, huh?”

“That’d be nice. You’re not obligated, but it’d be nice. I’m actually rather relieved to hear your voice.”

“Cause you like me?”

“Because I was very, very worried. Our last conversation didn’t exactly end on a high note.”

Lance remembered, suddenly, the last conversation he had with Dr. Kaur. A conversation that ended in a kind-of lie.

“I completely forgot to call you back on that. But, uh, it went okay. We’re okay.”

“Mhm. And I recently spoke with your sister…”

Oh. Here it comes. A long pause.

“Lance, you didn’t tell your family?”

“I talked to my mom this morning,” he answered quickly. Dr. Kaur gave a ragged sigh.

“Okay. But you have an entire support system that’s terrified for you and your health. And running away on a whim? Lance, please understand. That’s almost never a good sign.”

Lance dug his heels into the dirt, dragging his shoes to draw circles in the sand.

“I don’t mean to lecture you. Let me ask you… why did you run away like that?”

And it was heavy, his heels in the sand.

“I guess I just missed the thrill of it. Adventure.”

She was writing it down. He could hear it, the scrape of pencil to paper.

“Do you think you made the right choice, Lance?”

“I don’t know.”

A pause. “Okay. Let’s switch gears. You sound like you have a lot to talk about.”

Lance’s sigh betrayed him, relief in the sound, the stiffness in his body liquefying again when it came to something that relaxed him. Lance had a lot to talk about, alright.

“Holy shit, you won’t _ believe _ the week I’ve had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this was going to be an incredibly long chapter but i ended up cutting it cause... i wanted so much to happen.... but i have to stop somewhere........... oh my god.............  
> i'm sick rn and half delirious so i hope this turned out ok........... too big of a headache to check again x_x!!!!!!  
> thanks y'all for ur patience! next chapter will be a :3c doozy


	12. The Thought of Forward was Kind of Terrifying

“Jesus, you were gone for a long time.”

Lance perked up at the sound of Pidge’s voice, surprised to find her lounging across the hood of her car, concern in her eyes as she waved a water bottle in his direction.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean for it to turn into a whole therapy session.”

“You don’t have to _ apologize _ for that, Lance. Therapy helps, right?”

He gave a quiet nod, pressing the cool water bottle against his chin.

“Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” he answered, leaning against the car, Pidge’s eyes following him.

“Okay, yeah. I guess. But seriously, you look drained. Need a minute of silence?”

He perked up immediately, shaking his head hard. “No! God, no. If we just sat here all quiet I’d probably die from the fake solitude.”

Pidge gave a soft sound of agreement, sitting up as she did. “Right. Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. And I just kept making up excuses to not.”

Lance waited in silence for her to continue. Pidge bit down on her tongue.

Lance leaving to spoke to Dr. Kaur gave Pidge almost a little too much time to think.

“Do you think we’ll ever be friends again?”

The silence was deafening, and Pidge, despite the world telling her to face Lance, stared straight ahead at the horizon as a dying sun started to dip below.

“What are you talking about? We are friends.”

“Not in the way we used to be. I mean, Jesus, Lance, the day we reunited we slept together and just  _ moved on _ like that didn’t actually happen.”

Lance let out a quiet “oh.”

“And I just feel like we aren’t talking about it. About us? Like we keep dancing around the subject?”

She paused as another point cleared up from the cloud in her head, and Pidge let out a harrowed sigh as she spoke.

“I mean, god, did you even know how big of a stupid crush I used to have on you?”

She heard his shoe scrape in the dust, an uncomfortable beat of silence passing.

“Sorry. I just… had to say it. Fast. Rippin’ it off like a bandage.”

“Oh, I… I figured,” Lance finally said, and she could feel him shrug next to her. “I kind of noticed, yeah. I was just too big of an idiot to actually do anything about it.”

She didn’t want to admit how relieving that was to hear.

“Okay. Okay, let’s talk about it.” There was the sound of quiet drumming against the hood of her car, and Pidge found herself looking down at his hands. “One, am I good in bed?”

“What?” She blanched at the inquiry. Lance let out a laugh.

“Sorry, inappropriate. I just… I wanted to lighten the mood.”

“And you thought you could lighten the mood by asking me if I thought you were  _ good?” _

“Honest question, Pidge.”

“The fact that you had to ask is dropping you an entire grade.”

“Oh? So was I like, all A’s before? Four-point-oh?”

_ “Lance.” _

It was enough to get her to lift her eyes to his face, full of sincerity. He tilted his head, easy as ever. It was enough to get her to smile, mimicking his gaze, a short burst of a giggle escaping her lips.

It was enough.

“Maybe a little good.”

“I  _ knew _ it.”

“Shut up,” there was a giddy lightness as she spoke, pressing a hand against his arm to push him away from the hood of her car, a grin lingering on her lips. “So, backtrack, you said you were an idiot?”

“Like you didn’t always call me an idiot,” Lance quipped, leaning against the hood again to dip to her level. “Yeah. Between you and me, I think I had a little thing for you. Just a little bit, at the end there.”

“How’d that happen?”

“You know, the universe is a  _ bitch. _ It gives you something really, really good, and only the second you realize that, that’s when everyone’s already moved on and you’re stuck replaying the best years of your life.”

“Aw. I was part of your best years?”

His gaze was serious, contemplative. A beat passed before Lance spoke again.

“I must be still in them if you’re still here.”

Pidge opened her mouth, but Lance’s eyes left hers to stare at the horizon, another smile breaking through. Raw sunlight.

“Hey, I know Hunk was talking about the sky at night, but this sunset’s not half bad, either.”

And it wasn’t, as she followed his gaze to stare out as the sun dipped below the horizon-line, the landscape half-bathing in an orange glow as the sky painted itself in hues of deep pinks and purples and the splattering of stars. Pidge let her jaw stay dropped.

“Day’s already over, huh?” Lance said after a moment, pulling away from the car as he stood up, stretching his arms.

“New day tomorrow.” Pidge finally managed, and she found her eyes trailing back to Lance like a magnet. He gave her a wink. She scrambled up a little too quickly, a little too clumsily. “Guess, uh, maybe we should hit the road while we can?”

“Yeah. I can take the wheel.”

Her heart started to beat a little faster, when Lance stepped away from the hood and took a step towards the driver’s seat.

Then it clicked.

She missed him.

And the more Pidge thought about it, the more she realized they couldn’t go home like this. Displaced, broken, out of time-- taking steps backwards or not moving at all because the thought of  _ forward _ was kind of terrifying.

“Lance, wait.”

He paused. In any other situation, Katie Holt would never, ever, walk across the hood of her car on her knees.

She held her arms out for balance, but Lance was already there, ready to catch her before she could flop off. A giggle passed between them.

“Pidge?”

She steadied herself against his shoulders, thinking only for a breath that Lance had really, really broad shoulders. It was barely a second glance into his eyes that Pidge came up with a temporary solution to an almost permanent problem.

She threw her arms around him, burying her face into his neck, inhaling the scent of dirt and pine that clung to his shirt. Her heart was beating too fast, and she found herself gripping him a little tighter than before, too afraid to let out a breath.

It was barely a second before Lance wrapped his arms around her too, tightening the embrace and rubbing circles into her back. A gesture of kindness. Solidarity.

She really, really missed him.

And it was almost too dark to see when Pidge pulled back, grasping his shoulders like he was her only anchor to that moment and place, and letting go would be to surrender to the flow of time. Pidge cleared her throat, the illusion fading, the seconds passing.

“Thank you. I feel like I keep saying that, but, uh, thank you.”

He gave her arms a squeeze, grinning. “For what this time?”

“I don’t know. Giving new perspectives? Reminding me that I don’t have to keep doing this alone? Just… Just being there for me. Thank you for being here.”

“You really thought I’d make you drive around the country alone on a soul-searching mission? Please, Pidge. We’re past that.”

She gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“You never did tell me why you agreed to come with.”

And then Lance pulled away, with the suddenness and wary of a guilty man, eyes averting away from her. “Right, that. Well, funny story, Dr. Kaur was just grilling me about that, so I think I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that and go sit in the car with some jams.”

Lance moved quick to open the door and hop inside. Pidge slid off the hood, running around to the passenger's side and jumping in, eyes wide and a little breathless.

“Did you just try to run away from me?”

Lance turned the car on, letting out a whistle. “Uh, would it be cool if I said I’m running away from whatever conversation you want to have?”

“Wh-what?  _ Why? _ Lance? Are you okay?”

“Totally! I’m peachy. Look, I can smile.” He gave her a wide grin, then turned it off as quickly as he broke into it. “One hundred percent doing just fine.”

Her stare was unwavering. Typical Pidge. Lance let out a sigh, drumming his fingers against the wheel, giving Pidge a once over.

“I might have left out some details on my lying-to-my-boss-about-Abuela-dying.”

She quirked a brow, prompting him to continue. Confession time. Pidge was judge and jury, he could already feel that from just her stare.

“I lied to Aria. And my mom. And Dr. Kaur.”

“You what?” The raise in pitch was distinct, and Lance did his best not to wince in response to the sound. She let out a harrowed sigh, pressing a hand against her eyelids. “Okay. Okay! We’re in this together anyway, so you might as well tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

Lance stared at her, surprised. He was expecting a rant. Probably more of calling him names and storming away in stress and anger. So surprised, that Lance forgot to say anything and Pidge looked up, worry etched in her expression.

“Hey, seriously. You’re not gonna talk to me?”

“I guess I’m just surprised you want to. Talk, I mean. I thought you’d like… call me an asshole and go for a walk.”

Pidge gnawed on her lip for a moment, contemplative. “Like the beach.”

A knot began to form in Lance’s chest as he realized what he just implied. Of course, Lance didn’t have much of a filter or idea of not bringing up weird memories.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t, Lance. It’s okay.”

“No, no. It’s--it’s not okay. I keep doing and saying things that suck and I can’t seem to remember that, hey holy shit, Lancey Lance, turn your brain on and have a filter.”

Pidge let out a snort, despite herself. Lance furrowed his brow at her.

“I think I missed my own joke.”

“I-it’s nothing, really. I just realized you really changed.”

There was fondness in her tone, and Lance sunk back into the seat, letting the words soak in. She changed her mind, Lance realized. She changed her mind, from when she said she didn’t think he changed at all.

Change was a funny thing.

He didn’t like feeling vulnerable, for the most part. And Pidge always had a funny way of making him feel like that. Always, a nagging thought in the back of his mind because for some reason, her voice carried a lot of weight. And especially lately. Lately, everything Pidge did left him feeling a little more grounded than he did before, as if gravity started working again when for ten years it left him hanging just a little too far away as the world moved on.

And then it sank in as his heartbeat picked up a little quicker.

“Lance, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me anything about it. I just… I’m trying to care more. A-about you.” Pidge finished, hands fidgeting in her lap. “So--”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Pidge had stopped her fidgeting, sitting up ramrod straight, eyes wide and searching. Lance stared right back, suddenly terrified that if he looked away for even a moment, he’d start to float. He cleared his throat.

“I didn’t tell Aria or anyone else where I was going. I ran away. And Dr. Kaur asked, you know, why the fuck I ran away. And I didn’t know how to say, um, Dr. Kaur? Thanks for helping me out, but maybe normalcy is making me lose my fucking mind, and the thought of you leaving it all behind to  _ find yourself _ made me realize, that’s not a half bad idea--”

“Oh, god.”

“Shush. Interrupting my monologue.” He pointed a finger, frowning. “So, I did that. Risky, sure. But spending all this time with you, after nothing for ten years? I didn’t realize how much I missed it. How much I missed  _ you. _ And I just thought about it, and it just kind of hit me that I…” His voice died, as he caught on to Pidge’s expression, her gaze softening. “I-I love you.”

And he waited for the bomb to go off. For Pidge to stop staring at him with those wide amber eyes, her head cocked ever so slightly in thought, gears spinning slow under thick brown hair. He chewed on his lip, wondering what she might be thinking. Worst case scenario, she’ll kick him out of the car. Best case?

_ What would be best case? _

“So, did you find yourself?”

The question surprised him, and his face betrayed that surprise. “Uh, come again?”

“I asked, did you find yourself? W-was… was it worth it?”

She was staring at him. He stared right back, forcing himself to maintain eye contact when all he wanted was to look away.

“I think it's a work-in-progress.”

“Work-in-progress,” Pidge repeated, giving a satisfied nod. “I like that.”

Another pause, a beat of silence. There was still that damned elephant in the room. Lance cleared his throat.

“Uh, I hope you don’t feel pressured about me saying I--”

“I love you.”

She was staring, concentrated, nodding her head in affirmation, as if Pidge didn’t realize how she was supposed to say it. She let out a soft sigh. “I mean it.”

And Lance had every reason to believe her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHRUG EMOJI we're........ on the road to somewhere........... at least u kno............. truths came out..... haha..............  
> thanks for ur patience!!!!!!!! ALSO!!!!!!  
> i'm on board as a writer for [pidge ship zine!!!](https://pidgeshipzine.tumblr.com/) yayay!!! very excited!!! u kno exactly what ship i'm writing lettuce not pretend!!! so uh ;w; look forward to that hehe??? <3


	13. You Think It'd Be Easy

_ “Hey, Lance?” _

_ Lance looked up from polishing his bayard, surprised to find Keith striding towards him, spinning his helmet between his hands like a basketball, eyes clearly looking everywhere except Lance. _

_ “Yeah boss?” _

_ “One, don’t call me that. Two, uh, I know it’s not my business but I feel like… I have to ask? N-not cause I’m trying to be nosy, but the princess is, and-and so is Hunk, and you know how those two are…” _

_ “I literally have no idea where you’re going with this. You know, it’s pretty easy to like… talk like we’re friends, right?” _

_ Keith’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced around the room again. “Right. I know we’re friends. And teammates. And I’m your leader, I guess.” _

_ “Right, Leader. Spit it out, man.” _

_ “Okay, okay!” Keith raised an arm in surrender, sighing. “Are you and Pidge, like… good?” _

_ Lance quirked a brow at the inquiry. “Define good?” _

_ “Like… you’re on good terms? Figured it out?” _

_ “Are you implying that Pidge and I are fighting?” he snorted despite himself, leaning back into the cushions, a peal of laughter ripping through the room. “Oh my god.” _

_ “Hey! It was just a question. You guys acted so weird around each other yesterday that I just wanted to make sure this wouldn’t be some big thing.” _

_ That got Lance’s attention. He couldn’t remember, exactly, if anything was weird. His head cocked. “Define weird.” _

_ “Uh, I think you were trying to flirt with her.” _

 

-

 

The sky was grey.

That was the first thing Pidge noticed when she woke up, squinting at the dreary clouds that cascaded over the landscape with a held-in breath. As if they were waiting for her to wake up, to take in the site of a morning dipped in haze and dew.

She let out a soft moan, rolling her head over to stare at Lance, who gave her a quick glance before focusing back onto the road.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning, chucklefuck.”

There was a quiet smile forming on Lance’s face as Pidge’s hand searched for the seat adjustment, raising her seat back up into a proper sitting adjustment, eyes scanning for even the slightest hint of a sunny day. She rolled her shoulders, hands reaching up to rub circles into the nape of her neck.

“Sleep okay?”

“As well as I can. You should sleep, too.”

“That’s dangerous. I’m driving.”

“I meant, smartass, I can take the wheel.”

He didn’t give a verbal response, pulling off to the side of the road and clicking his seatbelt instead. Pidge followed the motions, walking around the car and catching the keys when he tossed them to her in perfect time and rhythm.

It wasn’t long before Lance got comfortable, stretching his arms above his head, a yawn escaping his lips. Pidge didn’t bother to change the music, closing her eyes to the familiar tune of Dexys Midnight Runner.

“Why are you so into eighties music?”

“Uh, classics? Come on, you have to know the lyrics,” Lance quipped.

“You’re delirious.”

“Come on, _ Katie,” _ Lance cleared his throat, a wicked grin cracking his lips, his voice cracking as he belted out the lyrics in a half-awake daze.  _ “Too-ra-loo-rye-aye.” _

She started the engine, rolling her eyes as Lance raised his arms in a low effort dance.

The song played on, and she was surprised to find Lance still mumbling along, despite the fatigue clinging onto his every word.

“You don’t have to keep singing,” Pidge mustered, squinting at her windshield to see if she was just imagining the raindrops speckling the glass.

“I like this song,” was said between verses. “It’s a good song.”

“It’s a good song,” Pidge agreed, staring sidelong at Lance, unsure of what to say next beyond, “can you please take a nap now?”

And then Lance shot up, as if his body forgot he was meant to be sleeping. “Did I ever tell you about when fucking  _ Keith  _ thought I was flirting with you?”

Pidge raised a brow, eyes flicking from the road, to him, and back again, before inquiring: “What the fuck, Lance?”

“I know, right?” Lance shook his head, staring out at the brewing clouds above them. “Like, did everyone know something that we didn’t?”

Pidge pursed her lips, offering a shrug. “Guess so.”

“I mean,” Lance suddenly said, quick as a whip to react, eyes studying Pidge’s profile. “Uh. Fuck. I don’t actually know what I mean.”

“Thanks for trying,” Pidge said, a smile forming on her lips. “You should seriously sleep.”

“I know. But also, I’m kind of getting really stressed out here. Talk to me?”

“Okay. About what?”

“Last night. We, uh, said some things…”

“Uh-huh.” Pidge remembered, of course, once the sleep wore off and her memories of the night before flooded her.

“I guess I just… want to know if we’re on the same page? Or just, what pages we’re on? Cause I really can’t tell with you sometimes.”

She let out a soft sigh. “We, uh, both really, really care about each other.”

“Not the words that were used, but yanno, I’m not gonna complain.”

“Right. And we’re both… figuring it out. I think. I hope.”

Lance was quiet for a while, save for his fingers drumming against the armrests of his seat.

“Yeah, I’m satisfied with that. What are you trying to figure out?”

“What?”

“Like, I’m trying to think of how to slip back into work and fabricate an elaborate tale of my grandma’s funeral for my manager. What’s your plan?”

Plan.

She forgot that they were on finite time. 

And that time was ticking away far too quickly for her to keep up. Pidge furrowed her brow, gripping the wheel tighter. Did she have a plan for when they got back home? What was she expecting, beyond waking up the next day and sitting in a cubicle for eight hours, going to her parents’ for dinner, and then straight home to her dingy, single-bedroom apartment?

Did she want that routine?

And was she expecting Lance to be a part of it?

Did she want him to be?

“Pidge?”

She pulled out of her thoughts, catching Lance’s eye. “Yeah?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“Oh. Oh! I wasn’t feeling pressured. Just thinking of my plan.”

“Ooh, care to share with the class?”

“Maybe. Just… thinking of the details first. You know me.” Pidge lied.

Lance didn’t push the subject, which was annoying. Instead, he just shrugged, eyes sliding shut. “Yeah. Just the details.”

The details, Pidge thought bitterly. That was her entire problem.

Lance fell asleep within minutes, and Pidge resisted the urge to scream.

And the rain started to come down, in short drizzles, at first, before becoming a downpour through the plains. And Pidge was, for a lack of words, starting to lose it.

She didn’t have a well-thought out plan. She thought she did, of course, because Pidge didn’t expect this roadtrip to mean anything beyond being a roadtrip.

And she realized, in horror, she didn’t want to go back to routine, as if the very idea of it was poison. As if normalcy was a demon set to plague her dreams, because she didn’t actually know what  _ normal _ was.

Was she normal, to have recurring nightmares of her friends dying? To be afraid of off-roading because it reminded her of piloting? 

Was it normal to miss fighting a  _ war? _

Was there some handbook on being normal that she completely fucking missed out on because the majority of her teen years were spent at the edges of the universe?

Then she pumped the brakes, almost too hard, pulling off to the side of the road.

Her hands released their iron-grip on the wheel, still trembling, trembling, trembling.

Tears for Fears was starting to make her a little more than anxious.

Pidge popped open her door, sliding out into the mud, ignoring the rocks digging into the butts of her palms and the wetness on her ass as  _ Everybody Wants to Rule the World _ played out for the cars that passed. She didn’t know what she expected.

She just needed to breathe.

Pidge let out a shaky breath, awareness seeping into her bones, holding the weight of the sky on her shoulders.

And then the dam cracked.

Pidge hated crying. But she needed to, she rationalized. She needed a good, strong cry, with trembling shoulders and hard breaths and forcing herself through muffled sobs. It was difficult for her to remember that she didn’t have to hold it in. That it’d pass.

She didn’t know how long she was sitting there, shivering from the cold of the rain and wind as Lance’s playlist shuffled on. Her hoodie was getting soaked, and she was sure mud smeared across the top of her lip when she wiped tears and snot away with her sleeve. She almost didn’t hear the passenger door pop open, either, or the sound of footsteps in the melting mud. She didn’t entirely notice Lance kneeling down to meet her, steadying himself on her door, his free hand reaching out to tug on her damp hoodie.

“Can I do anything?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

“Not when you look like you’re going through hell.”

There was a beat of silence, before Pidge let out a reluctant sigh.

“I think I just faced mortality head on and I don’t like where I’m headed.”

Lance fell quiet, letting the words sink in.

“Where do you want to be headed?”

Her head snapped up to face the clouds and rain without hesitation. Lance gave a soft nod, getting more comfortable in the pooling mud next to her.

“Me too. Fuck, me too.”

“Are we idiots to miss it?”

“Probably. But I think they don’t really need us up there. Not anymore.”

“I know. It’s awful. I miss being a hero.  _ Fuck, _ I never thought I’d say that, but I do. I miss being a paladin, Lance.”

“Me too,” came out barely audible from Lance.

“I miss the castleship.”

“I miss the lions.”

“I miss alien tech.”

“I miss food goo.”

“I miss the Olkari.”

“I  _ think _ I miss Lotor.”

_ “Lotor?” _

“His hair was a dream I can only ever hope to achieve.”

Quiet snorts passed between them before Pidge tentatively reached out a hand to his. A peace offering. A lifeline.

“You know, despite missing it, I think… I think I’m moving on.” Lance said, his thumb running absentmindedly across Pidge’s knuckles. She gave him a long look.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know, miss the good days, but don’t dwell. I don’t want to feel like I peaked as a teenager. Living in the past can only be great for so long.”

Pidge nodded, letting his words soak in. “How do you deal with it?”

“Hm?” He twisted his head away from the sky, looking at Pidge, blue eyes twinkling.

“Moving on. How are you doing it?”

Lance paused, contemplating, his grip adjusting on Pidge’s fingers.

“Want to hear a secret?”

She waited, prompting him to keep talking. A rattled sigh, a slight whine in his breath.

“I haven’t moved on. I don’t think I can. I mean, you think it’d be easy, right? Adjusting back to a normal life. But it’s…” He trailed off, shifting where he sat, moving closer to Pidge in  an attempt to keep warm as the wind chilled him to the bone.

“I keep waiting for gravity to turn off. To see new constellations when I wake up in the morning.” Pidge whispered, feeling loose, late tears pricking the backs of her eyes. “Glow in the dark stars aren’t the same.”

“Do you have nightmares? About the Galra? About losing each other?”

A pause. Pidge squeezed his hand, a quiet confirmation that he was still sitting there.

“I used to. All the time.”

“Past tense?”

She sat up straighter, adjusting herself to face Lance before raising her arms out for a hug. He obliged, quickly, quietly, sinking into her arms, forgetting for a moment that they were both covered in mud and rain. A soft sigh escaped Pidge’s lips, breathing into his hair, soaked and flattened, relishing in the warmth that radiated from his chest.

“I guess I just realized I didn’t lose you guys at all.”

And she probably didn’t mean to sound so hopeful, so full of warm and love. But it was enough to push Lance, emotionally, and without meaning to he let out a muffled sob into the crook of her neck and squeezed her a little tighter.

She ran circles into his back with her thumbs, rolling back on the balls of her feet, wondering if the cars that drove by were paying attention to them, or recognized them. The heroes of Voltron, stopped on the side of the highway while the rain beat down, clutching to each other with the strength of a hydrogen bond.

It was a good minute or so, before Lance’s sobs dissolved into hiccups, his grip loosening on her jacket as the rain lightened up. Timing.

A quiet sniff.

“The Bangles.”

Pidge raised her brows, looking between Lance and the car as she got up off her knees. “The Bangles?”

_ “Manic Monday.” _ He gestured weakly to the open door, the song gently playing through the speakers of her car. “How do you not know these?”

“I’m…” she was surprised at the path of conversation, staring hard as Lance stood up on his own, wiggling out his hands and stretching them over his head. “I guess I just need a proper education.”

Lance let out a laugh, finally, a grin cracking his lips. “Oh okay. Also, you look like shit.”

“Gee, you too.”

“I think--no interrupting, Pidge-- we need hot baths. Warm towels. An actual bed to sleep in for  _ one _ night. And I can look up the nearest, least sketchy motel right now.”

She stared at him, mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of a response.

“We’re a day late already,” she finally settled.

“No harm in taking things slow,” Lance retaliated.

“You’re really destroying my plan of action.”

“Hey, you know how plans get. Sometimes you have to start improvising.”

She wanted to smack the grin off his face.

“Fine,” there was a scoff in her tone. “One night. One. Then we drive straight home.”

Lance did a poor job of hiding his fist pumping into the air, the skip in his step as he bounded back to the passenger's side of the car. Pidge didn’t make an attempt to hide her grin either. She took a slow look around the landscape, breathing in the scent of petrichor as cars drove past with quiet hums.

The sky was still grey, but she could see it. Sunlight leaking through in the distance.

Somehow, that was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy fall!! happy oh-god-season-4-premieres-this-week-and-i'm-not-ready!!!!!  
> remind me, at the end of this fic, to make the plance roadtrip playlist. it won't be _all_ eighties music, but yanno... probably mostly eighties music hahahaha  
>  && I FORGOT!!!! TO ANNOUNCE!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!? i'm participating as a writer in the [pidge ship zine!!!](https://pidgeshipzine.tumblr.com/) the artist & writer lineups are full of MEGA TALENT and i'm excited (&& intimidated!!) to work with everyone ;w;!!!  
> anyway... here's this chapter! i hope it's ok. i feel like i'm so worried over pacing with this fic aaah x_x!!! there's so much left to do and yet i feel like i'm rushing LOL ;;  
> thanks for reading! if u got to the end of this note heck yea! i love u! goodnight!!


	14. Just Like Us

“So will it be a single?”

The receptionist was cute. Short curls framed his face, brown eyes glittered with kindness underneath glasses, fingers poised at the ready to pick out the room for the very harrowed, very smelly looking adults that stood in the cramped lobby of someplace called Sleepy Dave’s Inn in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The neon sign flickered, the word ‘vacancy’ trying to decide if that was true or not. Sleepy Dave’s wasn’t a looker. The lobby was painted a canary yellow, paint chipping at the corners, tiles greying and the spaces between looking the worst for wear after thirty years of guests stepping in and out. The waiting chairs weren’t comfortable, olive green and stiff. Pidge squeaked her sneakers against the tile, listening to the sound of a clunky air conditioning system on the verge of death and the soft crackle of Elvis Presley over the radio on the desk behind the receptionist. There was a flower vase. No flowers.

Lance shot a look at Pidge, who shot a look right back at him.

“Single okay?” Lance asked, finally, breaking the silence as if to spare the receptionist, who had no real reason to wonder why a single wouldn’t be okay.

“I just want a shower, Lance.”

It was the first thing she said to him, since…  _ you know. _

“Single it is.”

The receptionist finished the order, rattling off to Lance about where to find the best breakfast in town, the time for checkout, et cetera, et cetera. He was half paying attention, if he was honest.

“What brings you two here?” The receptionist asked, as his glasses reflected blue off the screen of his computer, the internet moving at a snail’s pace.

“Uh, roadtripping.” Lance liked small talk. He thought the guy was cute. And he liked talking.

There was an uncomfortable silence on the search for a decent place to sleep. Lance figured she was just tired, too tired to talk. Lance definitely was. Like, maybe people were lying when they said crying was cathartic. He just felt a lot worse than he did beforehand.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of facing his demons head-on.

“Ooh. Where to?”

“Home. We’re on our trip back,” he let out a laugh, casting a quick glance to Pidge, who had folded in on herself in one of the seats, eyes focused intently on the screen of her phone.

“Aw. Must have been fun. I wish I could make time for that. Can I get a name?”

“Put it under Lance McClain.”

A couple of clicks. The receptionist gave Lance and Pidge another look before going back to his work.

Then a pause. Another look, a third glance up. Recognition clicked behind his eyes, and Lance instinctively took a step back, braced himself.

“Hey, uh, this is weird but are you… you know,  _ the _ Lance McClain? From--from, ah, the robot?  _ Voltron?” _ There was a spark of admiration, hope in the kid’s gaze. The form of a giant universe-defending robot reflected in the light of his glasses.

The air felt like it was being crushed from Lance’s lungs.

Then there was someone at his side, hand looping around his elbow, holding onto his forearm, just a little sweaty.

“Sorry, what’s the wifi password?” said Pidge, waving her phone under the scrutiny of the receptionist. Lance watched, as the boy turned his gaze from Lance and down to Pidge, the flickering form of a starstruck fan dissipating under the professional facade.

“Oh! Oh, right. Sure, let me get that written down for you…”

The receptionist never brought it up again. Five seconds of fame. The limelight, the memory, the admiration was gone.

He moved on.

Pidge never let go of Lance’s arm, once the transaction completed and the receptionist--who Lance never got a name for-- bid them a goodnight. The walk was quiet to the room, navigating the outdoor parking lot and building for a door on the outside labeled 09. It took a couple of tries with the key card before pushing in, the scent of a freshly cleaned hotel room greeting them. It was practical, gaudy rose-patterned wallpaper decorating the four walls, a single bed with crisp white sheets, heavy curtains drawn.

Pidge threw the keycard on the little desk, tossing her duffel bag onto the carpet with a tired sigh.

“Geez, did you think that guy was annoying or what?”

“I know you’re trying to get my mind off of what he said, Pidge.” Lance said instantaneously, eyes averting, focusing instead on the small television propped on the dresser. Pidge let out a laugh.

“I wasn’t paying attention to a damn word he said.”

A beat passed in silence as Lance forced his legs forward into the room, shutting the door with his hip and leaning hard against it. Pidge was picking at her nails, quiet.

“Thanks for saving me.” Lance said. Another pause.

“I just really wanted the wifi password.”

She stretched her arms over her head, a hard yawn escaping. “And on that note, I’m going to shower first. Unless you want to.”

“No, uh,” Lance cleared his throat, making it too obvious he wasn’t going to look her way, paying attention to the finer details of the wallpaper. Pink roses. Yellow daisies. Green leaves. Blue stripes. “You go ahead.”

The bathroom door shut with a quiet click. 

Lance really, really wanted a drink.

He didn’t realize he was kind of missing it, working at the bar. Talking up customers, filling glasses with whatever was asked of him. Lance never thought himself a mixologist before taking the job. It wasn’t his forte, paying attention to cocktail recipes or types of alcohol or the difference between the good and shit beer. But Lance liked making people smile. And talking to them. And bartending.

He took a glance at the time on his phone, gnawing the inside of his lip. He had some time, he figured, before Pidge got out of the shower.

He took the key card, stepping back out into the dark of evening, breathing in the fresh air and pretending he couldn’t hear the couple upstairs in the midst of their argument, hand already dialing the number.

“Lance,” came Dr. Kaur’s voice over the other end, the sound of keys jingling rattling to a stop.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, I was just getting into the car. How’s your trip?”

“It’s… it’s good. I cried today.”

A pause.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It was gross. I haven’t cried like that since… since I got home. And saw my family. And hugged my mom.”

He could almost sense Dr. Kaur’s smile on the other end. “What made you cry, Lance?”

“I realized I haven’t really been dealing with shit since we got back to earth.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like, fuck, is it crazy? Am I crazy, Dr. Kaur, for wanting to go back into space? Wait, don’t answer that. I _ am  _ crazy. I, Lance McClain, former paladin of Vol- _ fuck _ , am crazy.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and Lance strained his ear to listen.

“So what do you want to do?”

“I want to go back to my bar.”

He steeled himself, free hand curling into a tight fist. He let out a weak croak.

“I can’t go back up there, if that’s what you’re wondering. There’s nothing up there I can’t find down here.”

“What’s down here?”

“First of all, health insurance.”

He didn’t hide a smile when he heard Dr. Kaur laugh.

“And my family, of course. My mom and siblings and nieces. A-and the bar. The people there. And the rain, Veradero beach… all beaches. And… And you, my favorite therapist. And Pidge. Pidge is here.”

“Right. That’s a lot of good things you have here.”

A pause.

“Do you think I have a future here? Or can you give me some sort of… plan to figure that out?”

“Actually, I think you do have a plan.”

The couple arguing downstairs had simmered down, Lance realized. He let out a low whistle, wind capturing the sound and carrying it through the quiet parking lot.

“Okay. Maybe. Thanks for picking up.”

“Thank you for calling, Lance. Form Voltron.”

There was a quiet sound of a throat clearing as Lance hung up, and he was surprised to find the receptionist walking his way, towels in his grip.

“Sorry, your girlfriend called the front desk…” The boy trailed, hands raising the towels, eyeing Lance. Lance exhaled, taking the towels from his hands.

“Oh, thanks. And, uh, sorry for earlier.”

“For?”

“For… being weird, I guess. Bothering you.”

“Sleepy Dave’s is home to all weary travelers, man.” The receptionist was grinning, stepping backwards as he did. “And, uh, sorry, too. I mean, what are the odds you’re a Voltron paladin, right?”

A nervous laugh from the guy. Lance mimicked the sound.

“That’d be crazy, huh?”

“Definitely. I doubt those guys are doing anything less than amazing hero stuff right now, you know? It’d be weird to find them here, just like us.”

“Right,” Lance found himself agreeing, gaze floating up again to the neon sign above the motel, the glow washing the parking lot in tints of yellow. “Just like us.”

 

-

 

Pidge was sprawled out like a starfish on the bed when Lance walked back in, dropping the towels into her lap. She gave him a quiet raise of the brow as he did.

“Extra towels for  _ my girlfriend,” _ came his voice.

“Oh? Is that what I am?”

“That’s what the receptionist dude said you were.”

“Ew. That’s so weird. Never call me that again.”

“What? Girlfriend?”

“Yeah! It’s weird when you say it. I’m like…” Pidge paused, waving her arm lazily as she tried to figure out what she meant. “Like, your Pidge?”

“Okay, weirdo. ‘Hey everyone! Have you met my pidgefriend, Pidge?”

“You’re a hardass. Feeling any better?”

Lance’s grin died, his head cocking to address the question. “What?”

“You were talking to Dr. Kaur, right? I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I figured that’s what you do when you’re alone with your phone.”

Lance nodded, holding his phone up as if offering to show her proof. “Yeah. I was. Thank you, for checking in.”

_ “Of course _ I’m going to check in. You and me? We’re in this for the long haul, bud.”

“You’re absolutely right. The long haul.”

She didn’t want to stare at him. Pidge was beyond that. But he was smiling, fond, eyes glittering, one hand pressing a towel to him, the other leaning down to pat her calf.

There was something funny, about the way he said that.

Something she didn’t quite know what to do with just yet.

“Okay, gonna shower. I stink.”

Finger guns. She finger gunned him back, sinking back into the pillows, eyes focused on the ceiling, the drone of the air conditioner in the background, the quiet hum of whatever song Lance was singing in his shower.

She’d never admit Lance was right, about getting a good night’s rest in a real bed.

She didn’t know how much time passed, when she felt the bed move beneath her. Pidge let out a soft groan.

“Oh, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t know I fell asleep.”

“Well, you did. Good morning.”

“Fuck, it’s not actually morning, right?”

“Christ, no.”

“Okay, good. Wanna talk?”

It was dark, because Lance was an angel and turned off all the lights before getting comfortable, warmth radiating off of him as he shimmied under the covers alongside her.

“Hit me, Pidge.”

“Dr. Kaur… you’d say she’s good at what she does?”

Lance didn’t answer for a moment, save for a quiet hum.

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s amazing.”

“Okay…” Pidge found herself hesitating. “I want to go back to therapy.”

There was quiet, and Pidge hoped to any god out there that Lance was awake.

“Lance?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m here. I was just thinking… that’s really, really great, Pidge.”

“Yeah? Okay. I just got really scared. My parents never forced me to do therapy, of course, but like every time I got up the courage to go I either bitched out last second or spent the entire fifty minutes sobbing.”

“And you stopped.”

“It didn’t feel like it was working, you know? Like I felt like a failure at getting better?”

“Hey. The important thing is that you’re going to keep trying, right?”

Pidge nodded, hard. And despite herself, she reached a hand out to find his.

“I guess.”

He gave her fingers a squeeze.

“So, that’s what you were thinking about?”

“I just needed some validation. Is that dumb?”

“Oh my god, you’re the farthest thing from dumb.”

“Okay. I… I also want to go back to school.”

Lance didn’t speak, urging Pidge to continue, voice quick. “I thought about it a lot. In the shower. Before the shower. The car ride here, mostly. But I was looking at community colleges in town and I just… I want to go back to school. Drop the nine-to-five. Do what I’m good at. A-and like, move on. Change.”

“Change?”

“Change.”

“I like that,” Lance let out a laugh, and instinctively scooted closer to Pidge, hip pressing against her side. “Maybe I’ll go back to school, too. You know, I think I want to be a teacher or something.”

“You’d be a great teacher.”

“You’ll be a great scientist. Wait, I’m wrong. You’re already a great scientist, but you’ll be a great _ employed s _ cientist.”

She felt his breath in her hair, and Pidge inhaled long enough to breathe him in. He smelled like coconut, like the shampoo and conditioner duo the motel provided. His hand was still in hers.

“Do you see something for us, Lance?”

“What do you mean?”

“In another ten years, do you think we’ll have this?”

“Sleepy Dave’s?”

Pidge double checked he was still holding her hand, still pressed up against her, tucked into warm blankets of a dingy motel room in the middle of nowhere, more aware than ever of the thousands of possibilities that were unfolding for them as the night ticked on and on and on.

“Yeah,” Pidge finally said, eyes closing, the gentle beckoning of sleep tugging her down. “Sleepy Dave’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY...... hope y'all are good.......... i am an Employed baby now and midterms are almost over......... so the exhaustion is real...........
> 
> i think i've figured out the ending, yay?? but also not yay. tbh, i don't think i ever rly want this fic to end. it's been really cathartic to write, u know?? this has just been a rly experimental, fun write haha. (i say this like the ending's coming soon but....... is it........ idk....... i don't follow outlines i just let these kids lead me down the streets they want to go and i just document it)
> 
> o geez, have i talked about season 4?? well here is my s4 reaction (spoilerz): i love the holts and will die for them. thank u
> 
> that's it for this a/n! see u next time. thank u so much for reading and ur supports


	15. No More Excuses

He wanted to kiss her.

That was the first thing Lance thought when he woke up, the sound of a coffee machine whirring to life at the end of the bed, the aroma wafting into his nose and reminding him that he really,  _ really _ wanted breakfast.

And Pidge, who he saw first after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, standing bent over in front of the motel-provided coffeemaker, tapping her foot impatiently against the carpet while her face was level with watching the hot, dark liquid drip into the pot. She had left her hair down, letting it fall wildly around her face and bounce up and curl in little honey tinted whirls. She was quiet, not full of murmurs and buzzing activity like Lance had gotten used to over the years. She seemed… at peace.

And something about the sight twisted something else in Lance’s chest. A memory, probably. A strong urge that seemed to squeeze the fatigue right out of him, and Lance came to two conclusions.

One of which was, he really, really wanted to kiss her.

The second was that he wanted to wake up to this more. More of  _ her.  _ More of knowing they shared a bed and it wasn’t weird but comfortable and there was less tension in the way she moved. Like Pidge wasn’t as afraid of him or the idea of them. But it would be weird, right? To ask her?

But then again.

_ “In another ten years…” _

Lance sat up, clearing his throat. Pidge straightened her stance, slowly, head turning towards him with a lazy, content smile.

“Morning.”

“Oh, uh… guh-good. Good morning.” Smooth operator. It was his brand.

“Sorry, did the coffee machine wake you up? You know, I’m thinking about complaining. It’s  _ shitty.” _

“Does it make shitty coffee, though?”

Pidge’s eyes glistened with amusement, eyes floating back to stare at the rhythmic drip of hot coffee. “We’ll have the verdict on that in a minute.”

For a brief, blissful spell, there was no sound beyond the drone of the machine finishing up its fresh pot while Lance untangled himself from warm sheets and stretched his arms above his head. An escaped groan as bones popped. A gentle sound of glass against metal and pouring two hot cups.

“I forgot. You like your coffee sweet, right? I don’t trust myself with all these sweetener packets.”

“Oh my god, I’ll do it, you heathen.” Lance said, crossing the room in a couple of steps and sidling up to Pidge, pushing her with a gentle nudge to the hip. “You know what’s good with coffee? Biscottis. I’d kill for a biscotti right now.”

“We have trail mix. Close enough?”

“Christ, no. Okay, are we drinking this at the same time? Count of three?”

Pidge swirled her styrofoam cup once, twice, nose wrinkling as she looked down into it. “I mean I guess. After three?”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” was said in unison as the pair brought the cups up to their lips, mirroring each other in almost perfect synchronization with a metronome.

“Kind of… bitter.” Pidge said, finally, setting the cup on the counter, brows furrowed in thought. “I mean, I didn’t expect it to be high quality, but…”

“Oh, it was crap. Wouldn’t serve that in a restaurant, much less such a refined establishment like this.” Lance agreed, placing his cup next to hers.

“Mhm. Definitely.”

A beat passed in silence, while the pair turned to face each other, amber eyes locked to deep blue ones. A car honked outside.

Then Pidge grinned, a giggle slipping through the cracks as she steadied herself against the counter, and Lance couldn’t help but follow through with laughter, light and airy and innocent, the coffee forgotten for a brief second.

“God,” Lance said finally, breathless. “Do you ever get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of surprising me.”

Her heart stopped, briefly. She caught his gaze, his gentle, languid smile as he tapped his knuckles against the tabletop, awaiting expectantly for an answer.

She didn’t know why she was always so surprised by how fond he sounded.

Pidge cleared her throat, picking up her coffee again and giving it a swirl. “You keep surprising me, too.”

Lance’s eyes never left hers, his smile widening, gingerly lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

“Oh?” She leaned closer, a brazen grin on her lips. “You have more surprises, then?”

And then he froze, like a deer in headlights, eyebrows raising as high as they could go. And to Pidge’s surprise, he was blushing. Clear as crystal.

“Lance?” She managed to ask. “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“What? No! No, um, you didn’t. You didn’t do that.” The words came out broken and monotone, Lance leaning away from her, focusing his gaze back to his coffee.

God, what would she even think if he asked if he could kiss her? The feeling of her eyes on him, watching his every movement at that very second…

He let out a shiver, stepping back from the machine, back towards the bathroom.

“I gotta pee. Thanks for the coffee.”

And he stumbled a little, walking into the bathroom, leaning back against the door, making sure it shut and he locked it quick.

The timing wasn’t quite right, Lance decided. He had so much to think about, so much else to focus on that starting anything real with Pidge was almost… not right. Even though he wanted it. And he was pretty sure Pidge probably felt the same way, right? She had to figure her life out, too. She was going to go back to school, get a degree, focus on doing things she loved-- which didn’t include Lance. 

(At least, not _ immediately.) _

Joking about it didn’t make it easier, but Lance figured rationalizing with jokes was working, somehow.

And if he said that, she’d probably understand. Obviously. They were both way into deeply invested with each other’s lives that she wouldn’t disagree.

Obviously.

A knock brought Lance out of his stupor.

“Hey, I know you’re not taking a piss so I really, really want you to talk to me, Lance.”

Oh, he was starting to hate this whole…  _ opening up _ thing.

“Can’t talk, too busy peeing.”

“Can’t you just… can you tell me if I said something wrong?”

That got him. Lance pressed an ear to the door, wondering, waiting if she’d say something else. She didn’t.  _ She _ was the one waiting.

“You didn’t.” It came out with a sigh. “This is absolutely, one hundred percent a Lance issue. And I’ll get over it.”

“Okay, you don’t have to get over it. And whatever it is, I will be right here to listen to you. Because, as we’ve established, I care about you. A lot.”

A half-laugh, half-sigh escaped Lance, despite himself. “Oh, god. You’re going to be so freaked out.”

“I promise I won’t be.”

“Okay. Here goes nothing.”

He turned completely to face the door, picturing Pidge on the other side in all her stature, waiting patiently for whatever Lance was about to say. That is, if Lance was ever going to say something. To be honest, he was blue screening. Non functioning. Every word that popped up in his head was a declaration of love, cheesier and cheesier, or something absolutely inane, like, “I think you smell nice.”

Which was true, but that didn’t mean he had to have all this build up to admit something she probably already knew.

“Still with me, Lance?”

“Remember when I said I loved you?” It came out in a quick blurt.

It was soft, almost inaudible beyond the door. A pause, then…

“Yes.”

“When I woke up and saw you standing there I realized, holy shit, I want you. Like, every part of you. And I think I definitely realized that more and more over this trip, but this morning I woke up and went, holy fuck! I wanted to kiss you. And I know you’re never going to like, kick me out of your life again, but I just…” Lance trailed off, and he glanced down at his hands, unsurprised to see them tremble.

“I guess I’m afraid. A-and I don’t want to force you to like, go out with me, like I totally get it if you have to figure things out first. I mean, I think I’m pretty fucked up and--”

“Are you… trying to make excuses to not ask me out?” It was still quiet, still unsure, but Lance swore he could hear a lick of amusement in her tone.

Lance licked his lips. “Being my friend already feels like I’m asking a lot of you.”

“You never asked me if that’s how I feel.”

Oh.

There it was, the heartbreak in the way she spoke, something Lance felt a little harder.

“You’re… you’re right.” Soul crushing defeat.

“Can you open the door?”

He wanted to protest against that notion, hand fumbling for the handle and twisting the lock open with achingly slow movements. He was terrified, honestly, of what Pidge was going to do once the door was open. What she’d say. How’d she look at him after that doozy of a confession.

He was right, about Pidge continuing to surprise him. 

She wasn’t mad, for one. At least, not as far as he could tell. The expression on her face was eerily calm, arms folded over her chest. But then she made eye contact with him and the facade dissolved like sweetener in coffee.

Her eyes were watery, brows furrowed together, lip jutting out in a pout he knew too well.

“Oh,” Lance began, and the instincts kicked in as he opened his arms, walking towards her slow. “Oh, oh god. Pidge.”

She raised a hand to stop him, shaking her head, gaze averted. “God, do you know how confusing this has been?”

He stopped, arms still raised.

“Yes. Yeah.”

“I can’t make sense of it. We… we’re honest people. I mean, you said you love me. I said it back. And that should have changed things, but it didn’t and I’ve been trying so hard to figure it out. And I don’t know, I don’t think I got it. But… I have a hypothesis. I think.”

Her voice came out an octave higher, a slight crack at the end there, and Pidge forced herself to look at him. She wiped stray tears from her eyes.

“Hypothesis?” Lance said, barely a murmur, and Pidge nodded, hard.

“On why nothing’s changed,” she stared at him. “We have  _ way _ too many excuses.”

There was a pause, as Lance took a minute to absorb what she was saying.

It was funny, hearing it come out of her mouth.

And it was an interesting hypothesis, the way she put it.

Because at the very least, she thought she was making too many excuses, too.

The idea of that made him giddy. As if the insecurities he was feeling moments before dissolved to the back of his mind, and Lance came back to the very first thing he thought this morning.

A hard laugh escaped his lips, and Pidge’s expression dissolved into surprise.

“Why are you laughing?”

“No more excuses,” was declared with almost childish glee.

Her eyebrows perked, and she didn’t have to ponder on the words too much.

Only react.

Their lips found each other in a matter of seconds, a wordless agreement that Pidge’s hypothesis was very much correct.

Excuses.

She could have thought of a hundred in that second to explain why she was kissing him, some sort of rationale that she’s been playing in the back of her head over every small interaction they shared together. Their first reunion. That first time. The moments he looked her way, held her hand, encouraged her, shared his jacket, his laughter, relentless optimism that seemed to flood out of him in bursts of energy. The quiet moments. The drunken ones. The ones that hurt a lot.

It took far too long to realize there was only one possible rationale to all of that.

She locked her arms around his neck, as if it was possible to pull him closer, to taste the bitter, shitty coffee on his breath, to lose herself in kissing him-- like, a real first kiss this time. One that wasn’t slightly tipsy and starving for human touch. One that was starving just for her, her, her.

She pulled back first, a hard exhale escaping her lips, a slight tremor in her hand as waves of emotions fell into her, ebbing her back out to sea. Lance caught her lips in a quick, softer kiss, less intense as the emotional high waves crashed into shore. She let out a hard breath, aware, suddenly, of his hands scrunching at the hem of her shirt, of the slight ache in her ankles from standing on her toes too long.

“Oh, the coffee’s not that much better the second time around.” Lance managed to say, somehow, cracking into a silence that ticked on past it's comfort. Pidge took a moment to look into his eyes, blue and watery, expression shy, trepidatious.

“Was it that bad?” She laughed around the words, and the air between them grew warmer, comfortable.

“The coffee? Absolutely. You?” A pause, and Lance’s hands loosened, easing into the curves of her hips. “Never.”

“So does that mean if I ask you out on a proper date,” Pidge paused for dramatic effect. His flair for theatrics was beginning to rub off on her. “You’d say yes? Right?”

“Probably. Maybe. Depends on if ‘a proper date’ meant breakfast?”

And Pidge threw her head back and laughed.

Loud and warm and absolutely real.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, after she collected herself, grinning with the strength of the sun.

“Let’s do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HM!!!!!!!!! hello again  
> it's been a supremely busy..... end of semester! i got rly swamped with projects and finals and aughhhh. but like, i refuse to like. not finish this fic. oh my god  
> i think i struggled a lot w this chapter but in the end i'm satisfied..... somehow..... thank u everyone for ur sweet reviews and everything i read them all adn think abt them a lot especially when i need the motivation to finish this fic!!! ahhh!!!! AHHHHH  
> anyways!!! here you go. in the flesh. chapter uh. uh. oh my god i thought this was chapter 14 nvm i guess LMFAO SDJFSD  
> thank you for reading!!!! idk what else to say. uhm. i love you. thank u


	16. Yes, There is a Second Date

“Waffles.”

Lance had felt betrayal before. He knew what it was like, to trust someone so deeply, to believe in them wholeheartedly, and then have that trust ripped away as they did something to completely shatter you and the perfect image you had crafted of them in your head.

This was like that. Only, less life threatening.

“Are you serious?”

She let out a tired sigh, as if this was an argument she’s had many times before, with many other people.

“Yes, Lance, I’m dead serious. I’m a waffle elitist.”

“I’ve known you for like, what, almost fifteen years and I’m only just now finding out you’re a waffle person? A waffler. Pidge Holt is a fuckin’  _ waffler.” _

She let out a snort, drumming her thumbs against the table, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you call pancake elitists?”

“Uh, sensible human beings?”

They had taken a long, long time to finish getting ready for the day. It had been mostly in silence, save for Lance humming out a favorite song as he packed what little items they ended up bringing into the hotel room. He was worried, then, that Pidge was going to change her mind. That she said yes to a breakfast date in the spur of the moment, and she was having second thoughts that weren’t unlike his own.

“Can we find a place with better coffee?” Pidge had asked in the middle of their quiet routine, breaking the silence, gesturing her chin towards the coffeepot, a grimace on her face. “That’s my only criteria. Otherwise I’m a cheap date, and completely at your mercy.”

She was grateful that he could quip back at her.

“Oh, so you’re totally cool with being blindfolded and taken to a mystery location?”

And that was, possibly, all they needed to get back into the motion.

It had been a different person at the desk when the pair set to check out and hit the road again, an older lady who did her best to Google directions to the nearest breakfast serving establishment, only to remember there was a small diner about two minutes down the street in the little podunk of a town the pair had found themselves in. The sign was neon and bright for the late morning. They had walked in on the sound of sizzling bacon and the strong scent of coffee while the jukebox played some fifties’ doo-wop that felt entirely in-line with the retro theme. The waitress, about their age, peppy and sporting a high, bouncing ponytail had greeted them good morning with a barely concealed midwestern drawl.

They had already placed their orders, squeezing their way into an upholstered booth, legs carefully tangled together because Lance’s were lanky and there wasn’t a lot of space and Pidge had no qualms about resting her legs against his, sometimes bouncing, sometimes not.

The coffee was better here. Criteria met.

“Okay, what about potatoes? What’s the superior potato dish?” Lance inquired, reaching over to busy himself with the small rack of condiments and seasoning.

“Hash Browns. Or scalloped.”

“Really? You always struck me as a tater tot kind of gal.”

That earned him a laugh, and Lance didn’t try to hide a matching grin.

“What part of my personality screamed tater tots, exactly?”

“Christ, I don’t know. All of it? And tater tots are my favorite.”

She quirked a brow, and Lance snorted in response.

“Fine.  _ Second _ favorite. Happy?”

“I was wondering if you were going to deny being a big advocate for crushed potatoes.”

“Family recipe. I have a bias.”

The jukebox faded into the next song, and Lance felt a light flick on in his head. He patted the table, Pidge’s eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Quarter me, Pidge.”

“Christ, that could mean like two different things.”

“You got quarters or not?”

She slid him a dollar in quarters, dramatic and slow, one by one, copper alloy clicking against the vinyl tabletop as she did. “You have something in mind?”

“Why? Got a request?”

It was a long time before Pidge answered, lip jutting out in thought. She gave him a warm smile after a minute.

“Come on Eileen.”

 

\--

 

He slid a quarter-slice of pancake onto her plate with dramatic flair, a grin on his lips. Pidge gave it a hard stare, then looked up at him, feigning disgust.

“You’re trying to poison me. I’m allergic to pancakes.”

“Let me guess, waffles are the antidote. The anti-pancake.”

“Exactly.  _ Exactly!” _ She jutted her fork in his direction, suppressing a grin, suppressing the urge to smile at him because she’ll be damned if she would be the first to crack again. “You’re a terrible date. Absolutely despicable.”

“I’ll make it up to you on the next one.” Lance said, and she was surprised at the sincerity behind the humor, the absolute delight that there was definitely a second date to plan, and more.

The idea of it made her giddy, as if Lance had lit a bundle of fireworks in her chest that went off in loud, obnoxiously colorful explosions without warning her first.

“I’d like that.”

It went almost unspoken, the relief that came when she said those words. No other confirmation was needed to assure them both that no, neither of them were having second thoughts, and yes, there  _ was _ a second date. 

(And a prospect of a third and fourth and so forth.)

“Speaking of, if you had to rank this date, with absolutely no funny business, where’d it go on your top ten list?” Lance had asked, once their meal was finished and paid for and there wasn’t much else to do besides sit in a booth and talk the morning away.

“I don’t think I’ve been on nearly enough dates.” Pidge said honestly, shoulders raising in a half-hearted shrug. “So, like, probably number one.”

Lance grinned. “That bodes well for me.”

“Actually,” Pidge stopped him, and for a second she could see his expression change from pride to almost worry, and she shook her head, holding a hand out. She reconsidered, briefly, shaking the idea off with a slow wave of her wrist and scoff. “You’re going to think I’m a loser.”

“No. Nuh-uh. Not in this diner. What’s your actual best date? I need to know so I can immediately one-up it.”

“It wasn’t even a date,” she dismissed quickly, and that only seemed to egg him on.

“Which makes it so much easier for me to do something better.”

There was a pause, as she watched him, fondness in her gaze. A smile, a look away, contemplative.

“Uh, it was at that, uh, that swap moon.”

Lance leaned back into the booth seat, brows furrowed. “The  _ space mall?” _

Her “yeah” came out quiet, and then it sank in, finally, Lance leaning back into her with rejuvenated glee, his lips pulled into a thousand-watt smile.

_ “That’s _ your best date? Ever? And it was still with me?”

“Oh my god, it wasn’t a date.”

“No. No! No, no, listen.” The line was trailed by a giggle, and Lance grabbed at her hands, forcing her closer to him until their foreheads touched and they leaned into each other like he had a deep, dark secret to share that the other diner patrons absolutely couldn’t hear about. “If you say it was a date, I’ll say it was a date.”

“You’re so embarrassing.” Pidge whispered back, and Lance grinned wider, hands finding her shoulders and giving them a squeeze, gently throttling her.

“Will you do it for teen Pidge? The Pidge from the past that probably spent the last ten years of her life wondering, _ oh my gosh,  _ was wading knee-deep in a space fountain looking for space currency to buy a video game and a cow with Lance McClain  _ a date? _ With, you know, the hottest and most charming paladin on Team Voltron?”

“You give yourself way too much credit,” Pidge said, mirth in her eyes, balancing herself on her elbows because Lance was clearly having too much fun jostling her.

“Really? Because I think teen Lance would be thrown for a fucking loop to know that that entire thing was a date.”

He tried again, moving her by the shoulders, impatience and anticipation clawing at his every sense until Pidge rolled her eyes, nodding her head in reluctant agreeance.

“It was a date. Our first date. Officially. Decreed by diner law. Happy?”

“Happy completely understates it.”

He let her go, somewhat reluctantly. She gave him a smile, and then slid out of the diner booth, calculating the tip as she did. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For?”

She paused again, suddenly unsure of what to say. There were probably a thousand things she could thank him for, as she slid back into her jacket and they made their way back outside into the warmth of the sun. Finally, Pidge shrugged as they reached the car, stopping him, tugging him by his fingers until Lance stopped and cocked his head at her, expectant.

“For being honest.”

His brows raised in surprise, and then Lance smiled, bending down, closing the distance she had left without hurry, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“You shouldn’t have had to wait for honesty.”

“I wanted to.”

And she split off from him, finally, only to open the doors and get into the driver’s seat as Lance slid into shotgun, immediately busying himself with the roadtrip playlist, a familiar chord blasting from the stereo.

“The Romantics!” Lance exclaimed over the song, giving Pidge a wild grin as she reversed out of the parking lot and found her way back onto the freeway.

“You’re in a good mood.” Pidge observed, eyes focusing on the road, unable to resist the infectious grin he was wearing.

And he was, in a sense of the word. He didn’t have a lot of moments like these, moments where he felt completely at ease, victorious. Those moments hadn’t come to him in ten years, and whenever they did, the achievement passed, and he forgot about it within a day. It was a different sort of victory, Lance realized, as he reclined in his seat, the high energy vibrations from the song through the speakers almost begging for him to sing along.

It was a special kind of victory. One that didn’t involve firing guns or piloting lions or blending a perfect martini. It was a small one, sure, but it meant more to him than he could probably ever elaborate in complete sentences.

For he felt completely, entirely, at peace. Even if just for this one moment.

He stole a grin over at Pidge, who noticed his gaze, a soft, reminiscent grin on her lips.

“I’m in a  _ great  _ mood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy (belated) new years! here's a chapter for u as i recover from this nasty flu!! <3  
> it's the date episode. u know. the date episode u deserve for putting up w/ so much angst lately LOL  
> thank you for reading!!


	17. I'd Do It All Again

“Isn’t the scenic route going to take longer?”

“You don’t wanna go back?” Pidge was surprised, eyes on the road, flicking between the road, the GPS, and Lance, who was giving her a puzzled stare.

“I mean, I’m always up for a beach day. But I thought you wanted a day at home before being forced back out into the real world.”

“Oh,  _ fuck _ the real world.”

And despite himself, Lance let out a laugh, loud enough to startle Pidge, who frowned in response.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry--” Lance managed between another fit of giggles, grinning wide. “It’s just… this is different.”

“Different,” Pidge repeated, prompting for an explanation.

“Yeah. I mean, you… you didn’t want anything to do with me two weeks ago.”

Pidge paused, mulling over his words, eyes back on the road as she followed the same route to their first stop on the trip. He was right about that. She didn’t want anything to do with him, and almost preferred a life that Lance wasn’t a part of anymore. It had been almost easier, dealing with Lance through memories, through a lens of a lovelorn teenage girl who was able to forget her affections as the war got more dire.

“I know,” Pidge said. “I know. Who knew, right?”

“Who knew what?”

“That I’d be right where I was ten years ago,” she ended the jaunt with a laugh, and she hoped he couldn’t see her hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel. “You know, hopelessly infatuated with you.”

“Aw, come on! You say that like that’s a bad thing,” Lance shot back, leaning across the console dividing them, a devilish grin on his lips. “And, _ FYI, _ I aged like fine wine.”

“Oh my god.”

 

\--

 

The beach was as quiet as the first time around, which was an unspoken blessing as Pidge pulled into the parking lot, pulling as close as she could to the steps that winded down to the waterfront.

She stared out into the ocean.

Familiar. Different, all the same.

“So, why here?” Lance asked, and Pidge noticed he sat, not quite eager and upright, but curling into himself as dark blue eyes gazed over the water’s horizon. Stormy.

“Like a final send off. A thank you, for going with me.” Pidge said mechanically. She watched him wince a little.

“Back to the start.” Lance said. A statement, not a question.

“Back to the start, yeah.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes not looking for each other but at the sea, the same old misty and dark, as if it was wondering when the two familiar visitors would finally step outside and breathe in its air and water and stand at its’ shore. Beckoning, like an old friend.

Pidge touched the door handle, and she heard Lance inhale, mumble something under his breath. She tapped at his arm, brows furrowing.

“You wanna say something?”

“Say what?”

He looked up, surprised at first before dissolving into sheepishness. She waved her hands, unsure how to explain it.

“You keep, like, mumbling to yourself. You know?”

“Oh,” Lance blinked, leaning away from her, eyes averting to the ocean. “That.”

“Yeah, Lance, that.” She folded her arms across her chest, scrutinizing him. Her voice softened as she kept going, kept speaking to him. “What’s going through your head?”

Lance didn’t say anything at first, instead opting to reach for her arms, her hands, which she allowed him to. He pressed one hand to his lips, grazing her knuckles against his mouth, before pressing it into his cheek, a tired groan leaving his lips.

“You’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’ve done that for as long as I can remember, Lance.”

A short laugh.

“Okay. Uh, oh my god I’m going to regret telling you. But uh, the night before we left…” his voice trailed off, and Pidge leaned forward, giving his hand a squeeze, unspoken reassurance.

“I had a nightmare. About Haggar. About you.”

“Oh.”

“I called Dr. Kaur immediately.” Lance said before Pidge could interject further. His eyes met hers, and he let out a breath. “Uh, I was afraid. Terrified, actually. Like, I have Voltron dreams all the fucking time, but the real ones, they’re the worst.”

“Lance, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“I  _ want _ to talk about it.”

They fell silent for a moment, Lance’s head dropping. And Lance wished, for once, he didn’t feel things as deeply as he did. Especially nightmares. Especially his fears.

Pidge gave his hand another squeeze, like a bobbing lifeline in the dark. One more breath.

“It scared me to death. You, getting hurt. Even though when I woke up, I knew it was a dream, all I could think was why the  _ fuck _ couldn’t I be there for you? And it was infuriating, because it felt like failure. And, here’s the part about the mumbling, okay? Dr. Kaur told me to come up with a mantra. Like, if I ever felt weak or afraid. Something uplifting, you know. Something… something I could say when I needed to feel a little bit stronger, like in that  _ really _ bullshit irrational moment after I woke up.”

Pidge had stayed quiet throughout the confession, which Lance wasn’t sure was a blessing or just… uncomfortable. But then he looked up, amber eyes wide and staring at him with a gentle sparkle, her lips making a quiet ‘o’ shape.

“What’s your mantra?”

A pause. Long, almost uncomfortable. Lance let out a soft laugh.

“Form Voltron.”

For a moment, Pidge sits in stunned silence, and Lance is almost too afraid to look away. He could almost see the gears turning in her mind, processing his words, forming her own opinion in response. It was almost agonizing, waiting for her answer.

Finally, she laughs.

“Form Voltron,” she repeats it, testing the weight as it drops from her lips.  _ “Form Voltron?” _

“You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“No, no. Mantra, right? Uplifting, positive, blah, blah, blah?” She scoots closer across the middle console, hands in his, eyes bright and clear and almost glowing. “Come on, say it with me.”

It made his heart stammer, and he found himself grinning, hands snaking to pull Pidge closer with a surprised squeal, but she didn’t pull back, sliding almost with ease into his lap, unfazed by the discomfort of squeezing two bodies into the passenger side.

“Form Voltron!” Lance says it with a yell, and it sends the two of them into hysterics, the air growing warm as Pidge joined him in shouting a phrase they had almost forgotten the meaning of. He pushes fingers into her ribcage, and Pidge feigns distress before jabbing him back in a series of tickles, breathless, fighting back laughter and shouts of Voltron.

Finally, they quiet down, a comfortable silence settling over the car, and Pidge leaned her head onto Lance’s shoulder, letting out a tender sigh.

“Feel better?”

It made him laugh, and she found comfort in the sound, the rumble of his chest against her ear.

“You don’t think I’m embarrassing for making that my mantra?”

“Never in a million years.”

She reached for his hand, one that was tracing circles against her thigh, fixing her fingers between the spaces of his.

“If I had a chance to do it all over again,” she began, slow. “I’d do it.”

“Do what?”

“Save the universe.”

That incites another rumble of laughter.

“Me too. I’d do it all again.”

There’s a pause, as Lance gives her hand a squeeze, and she turns her head, locking eyes with him. Lance offers her a smile.

“Especially this part.”

She grins. “The part where I force you to go on a bullshit road trip and make you fall hopelessly in love with me? You’d do this again?”

“Pidge.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “One, I was  _ already _ probably hopelessly in love with you. Two, I think out of all the bullshit road trips I’ve ever been on, this one’s my second favorite, so yes.”

“Oh no, who do I have to square up with?”

“I don’t think you can go one-on-one with Altean robot lions.”

“I most definitely can.”

Another laughter interrupts the almost stillness, before fading into silence as Pidge catches Lance’s stare again, contemplative, warm.

“What?”

“Nothing, just want to say thank you.”

“What this time?”

“I wasn’t sure how anyone would really take it. Learning my…” He makes air quotes with his fingers. “Mantra. It’s…”

A pause. Pidge gives him a smile.

“It’s who you are.”

Lance mirrors the gaze.

“It’s who _ we  _ are.”

Then he gravitates towards her, earnest to capture her mouth with his in a deep kiss that says all the unspoken words neither of them did. Not that either of them thought they needed to say it, the apologies or reprimands or praise.

For the moment, it was only them, sitting passenger side in Pidge’s car on the edge of the ocean, warmth crackling between their bodies, a smattering of stars beginning to reveal themselves as the sun dipped to kiss the sea.

She pulls back first, letting out a quiet sound, taking in the scene before finding Lance’s eyes on hers again.

“What?” She whispered. Lance cocked his head.

“Not to make things weird, but… what do you say to a do-over of our first reunion?”

That makes her smile, and she leans back into him, pressing her lips to his jaw, moving up slow, agonizingly slow, back to his mouth.

“I’d say yes.”

They move differently, this time-- the heat and impulsivity of that first night shed away like old flesh, their motions following a different rhythm, one that wasn’t any less earnest but this time, this time more focused.

She didn’t realize how cold it was up on that cliff until her shirt was off, and Pidge involuntarily shuddered. Lance snorted in response.

“What? I’m cold, like, _ all the time, _ Lance.”

“You’re adorable.”

It didn’t take long to undress, not really. Their focuses were less on the number of clothes but on other things.

Like, Pidge’s underwear having bears on them, which definitely didn’t need to be justified at the moment but there’s only so much resistance one could have in making a joke.

Or like battle scars.

That was the first thing they found on each other. Rough, ragged insults of scars, some lifting the skin, others milky white and clean and still others that were far too uniform and far too human to be anything less than a result of war.

They didn’t dare breathe.

Pidge touched, first. A particularly rough one, jagged and mean looking as it struck across his ribcage like an angry strike of lightning. She inhaled.

“Well, talk about missed details.”

Lance touched, next. A smaller one, a set. Clean knife slices, close to her hip.

“In both of our defenses, it was very dark the first time.”

Pidge snorts in response, pulling her hand away from the scar, opting to cup his face in her hands and force him to look her in the eye. Watery blues contrasting her amber.

“Are you okay?”

Silence, for a long moment, as Lance’s eyes squeezed shut and his hands trailed upwards, away from touching old wounds, careful to avoid any more. And Pidge let him press his head into the curve of her chest, her own hands quick to wrap around his head in a gentle embrace. He was quivering beneath her, Pidge noticed. She could understand.

It was more difficult to move past the physical reminders.

Finally, Lance spoke, something she wasn’t expecting.

“Form Voltron.”

And it was silly, the way he mumbled it under his breath, yet making it clear he wasn’t trying to hide it away. Form Voltron.

Mantras.

Strength.

Pidge laughed, pressing a kiss against his hair, and he responded slowly, attention focused on kisses against her clavicle, her shoulder, her neck and jaw, leaving behind aching warmth.

“Didn’t kill the moment?” Lance whispered, his breath hot against her ear and she couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Oh, dude, if you wanted to kill the moment, you could talk about my underwear again.”

“I didn’t say the bears weren’t  _ cute.  _ Just interesting, cause you strike me as a bird person.”

“We are not getting into this discussion while you’re putting your hand down my pants.”

“Oh, but I’m a  _ beary _ big fan of--oh _ Christ!” _

She pulled the seat recliner in that moment, their combined weight sending the chair flopping down into a reclining position, foreheads smacking together in response to the change in gravity. They hiss in unison, fully aware of the pain against their scalps. Pidge laughs first.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m probably, like, ten percent remorseful for doing that.”

There’s a softness in her voice that Lance notices as he gazes up at her in the growing darkness of the car. A softness in her gaze, warm and full of love. And it’s instinct, when he reaches up, pushing hair away from her face and cupping her cheek, and it takes all his willpower not to feel so giddy, not to whoop and throw his arms around her in another tight hug.

Instead his mouth moves.

“I love you.” 

Lance doesn’t wait for Pidge to speak before continuing. “I know we’ve already been over this, the whole I-love-you thing, but, uh--”

“I love you, too.” Pidge says, and her face dips to meet his, foreheads touching gently versus the assault when she reclined the seat. “Every part of you.”

It was added, not much like an afterthought, but like an affirmation.

And that was what they both seemed to be needing.

“Every part of you,” Lance repeated, hands unsure where to touch, one massaging circles into her wrist, the other still holding her face. She shifts in his hold, eyes averting, a sigh escaping her lips.

“I know you wanted a sex do-over but--”

“You wanna just lay here instead?”

She smiles, and he scoots to make room, a quiet apology-joke about the cramped, uncomfortable seat, which earns him a gentle jab to the rib.

The quiet was nice. No sound save for the gentle hum of a running engine and ocean waves crashing into shore. Breathing, hers and his, following their own tempo. Her legs tangled with his as they got comfortable, Pidge throwing an arm around his waist, head pressing into his chest.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Pidge whispered after a moment.

“Sure.”

A pause.

“Play your music.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG TIME NO SEE!!!!!!!!  
> ok quick notes cuz i keep apologizing every slow update so:  
> 1\. life amiright  
> 2\. SEASON 5 AMIRIGHT  
> 3\. still rly...... on this train..... choo choo i should be more up to date w/ fandom but ;_;!!!! man  
> 4\. THIS IS ABSOLUTELY VERY LATE BUT: [ preorders have been open for pidge ship zine](https://pidgeshipzine.tumblr.com/post/170873765515/pre-orders-are-open-heres-the) and if u love pidge ships and ;) urs truly, do take a gander!! they close march 14 i feel so bad coming in w this news late but babes!!!  
> 5\. thank you............. for reading.......... for sticking w/ me all this time and reading and ur reactions to every chapter warm me heart........ bristle my bones......... knit my sweaters.......... i'm running out of fun jokes but yeehaw  
> 6\. ...... <3  
> (edit: fixed the broken link to the zine ;o;!)


	18. Paladins, In the Present Tense

“--And it was really good. Hey,  _ I Melt With You _ by Modern English? Excellent post-not sex song, by the way. I should link you my playlist.”

Dr. Kaur regarded Lance over the top of her glasses, fingers tapping against her desk in thought.

It was strange, to be back here. Back confined within the four walls of Dr. Kaur’s office after two weeks on the open road doing nothing but driving around, listening to his excellent taste in travel music, and getting a chance-- a  _ real  _ chance-- to fall in love.

Not just with Pidge.

With second chances.

He leaned back in his seat, spinning once before Dr. Kaur cleared her throat.

“So, back to the mantra. It helped you?”

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “How could it not? Voltron was, like, the mantra of the millenia.”

“I meant you, personally.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Yes. It did. I promise.”

“Do you think you’ll keep it up?”

He thought about it, pushing brown locks off his forehead with a single sweep of his hand, dark blue eyes darting between his therapist and out the door. “Maybe. I mean… maybe.”

A long pause.

“That’s... better. And your family? You’ve talked to them?”

He fell quiet, eyes flicking away from Dr. Kaur, knowing full well she had every right to ask. Lance knew it; his sister, his mother, _ dammit, _ deserved a better explanation than what he gave.

“I’ll make sure I do.”

They talked until his hour ran out, and Lance left the office in higher spirits, waiting patiently at the curb until his sister pulled up and he climbed inside and she drove him home. His mom was there, folding tamal into corn husks, greeting him with a smile and asking her usual questions, as if he never left.

The apartment was warm from the stove being worked on, a spicy scent carrying throughout the house. Lance sat down at the kitchen table, taking up a spoon in one hand and husk in the other. They spoke in quiet Spanish as they worked, the three of them.

“You should invite little Pidge over,” said his mom as she rinsed her hands, once the tamales were folded and boiling.

“Maybe when she’s not busy,” Lance responded with a laugh, reaching for her hands after she dried them, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We literally just got back. Besides, she said something about seeing her parents tonight, too.”

“How nice,” noted the older woman. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, letting Lance’s hands squeeze hers, eyes watching the stove timer. There was that elephant in the room: Lance still had to explain it to her. Everything. Even if Mrs. McClain wasn’t one to push a subject, well…

It was her, after all.

“Mama, wanna sit down?”

“I’m not  _ that  _ old, mijo.”

A laugh. “Not what I meant. Promise. I just… I should talk to you. Why I left…”

“Oh, Lance. I don’t need an explanation--”

“You deserve one.”

She waited, patiently. He admired her for that. He always had.

“Mama, remember that voice message I sent home with Mr. Holt years ago?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Yes. I was so, so proud of you.”

An afterthought, an almost-joke. “I still am.”

“I know,” Lance laughed, leaning towards her. “I… I wish I told you. That I was going to disappear for a couple of weeks, I mean. You know, literally run away from everything I was afraid of.”

“That’s not how I see it.”

He turned his gaze away to stare at his hands.

And then her hands took his.

“I don’t think you were running away from anything, mijo. You always… run  _ towards  _ things. Never away.”

“I’m not following.”

“Before you left,” she began slow, calm. “You always looked like you were trying to find a  _ purpose _ . Like you were hungry for a whole world that just wasn’t offering enough to you. And then you took a chance. You grabbed fate by the shoulders and decided you weren’t going to settle for anything less than you deserved.”

He blinked, his mother’s words settling into him, and he licked his lips, working around the dryness in his mouth. “Are you still talking about the road trip?”

A smile. “Do you think I am?”

Lance let out a laugh, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose, a string of prayer leaving his lips, prayer that ended in his mantra. The timer for the tamales went off. Mrs. McClain stood up, running a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Mama, one more thing.”

“Yes, mijo?”

“I love you.”

 

\--

 

“You’re back in therapy?”

Pidge let out a groan, stretching back down to touch her toes, avoiding eye contact with Matt. Her calves were burning, her lungs threatening to give out. Why was getting back into daily exercise suddenly so difficult now that she wasn’t so young and spritely?

His sneakers came into her vision.

“Pidge.”

“Yeah, I am,” she stood up, arching her back as she looked up at him, her lips forming a pout. “Figured it was about time for a second chance. Might help later when I’m balancing work and school and junk.”

He was grinning. “And school? You’re also thinking about school?”

She hesitated.

“It’s not Dartmouth.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

They took up to walking, a casual, leisurely pace around the park, different from the jogging they had been up to for the last hour. It was a nice day. It was a really, really nice day, a day in October, and the air was crisp and cool and the world felt warm despite the weather draped in ambers and gold.

Her eyes unconsciously floated to he scar on his face, once so prominent, now fading into obscurance. She always hated that scar. It was relieving to see it go.

“So you’re going to Dr. Kaur?”

“Nope,” she emphasized the ‘p’ sound, turning away from his face. “Heard it was a bad idea to share a therapist with people you know, like family. And you know…”

It was unspoken, but Matt grinned anyway. He checked her with his hip, sending them both into giggles. “Your boyfriend.”

“Ew.”

“What? Isn’t that what he is?”

She put her arms around herself, letting out a long sigh, breathing in the crisp air, even, easy. Pidge shrugged, and despite herself she knew her cheeks were red from more than just the exercise, more than just the weather. “He is.”

He let out a laugh, looping an arm over Pidge’s shoulder and tugging her into a half-hug. “Did I ever tell you how much I love that you two are a thing? When did that even happen? How’d you even find him?”

She mimicked his gesture, wrapping an arm around Matt’s back, glancing up again at the fading scar on his face.

“I think, deep down, I knew I’d find him again. Sound familiar, right?”

The gaze in his eyes turning soft, grateful. He squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, an unspoken thank you, one of a thousand.

“A little bit.”

 

\--

 

“You promise not to forget me?” Hunk was grinning at them through the video call as he walked through the intergalactic travel hub, taking a moment to spin the camera, showcasing a wide berth of the terminal, of other space travelers brimming with excitement, of the view of a massive ship being inspected once more before take off.

“Sorry, are we supposed to know who you are?” Lance asked, leaning hard into Pidge’s side to get in view of the tablet camera, an almost explosive grin on his face. “Pidge, who’s this hot piece of ass? Is he this illegal alien tech hookup you’ve been not-so-secretive about?”

“Ha-ha, you piece of shit.”

“Hey, come on! You set me up and the goal was wide open.”

Pidge snorted amidst the good natured banter, and if one hand weren’t holding the tablet and the other holding his hand, she might’ve hit him. Instead, she settled for kicking at his shins, their legs already a tangled mass beneath the comforter. Lance kicked back.

Hunk was grinning into the camera. “God, as soon as we’re able to, I’ll have to show you guys the engines. Those babies have the smoothest purr I’ve heard in a few deca-phoeb.”

Pidge’s eyes lit up. “I demand an audience with these sexy, sexy engines.”

“Promise.”

They talked more, for another hour or so, waiting with Hunk at the terminal. He was going to be an engineer on board. Maybe a volunteer cook, if his suspicions about the food tasting “subpar” were correct. He got clearance to have a pet on board, and the pair cooed softly through the screen at Weblum, who let out an excited woof once the camera was on his face.

“And what are you two up to? I didn’t wake you guys up, right?” Hunk asked once they finished greeting the bulldog, camera back on him, a devious grin on his face. Pidge and Lance shared a glance, a relaxed smile.

“We were just hanging out,” Pidge finally said, beaming up at Hunk. “We knew you’d be calling, so we didn’t want to do anything until you did.”

“Aw. I’m touched. You guys look great. And I’m so damn _ relieved.” _

That made them both laugh, and Lance spoke first. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I mean, you’re finally dating. About ten years way too late, but,  _ oh my god,  _ finally.”

It was then Pidge felt Lance’s hand squeeze hers. An affirmation. She turned her head to look at him, lock eyes, dark blue gems meeting amber. His eyes crinkled at the corners, unadulterated joy. She beamed back, then turned back to Hunk, remembering herself, aware, so aware of Lance still looking at her, aware of her cheeks turning pink. She smiled, sheepishly.

“Yeah. Finally.”

 

\--

 

“Pidge?”

She gulped for a breath of air, aware of the sticky heat and the chills running through her body, the explosions still rattling in her head, just below the surface of her skin. Her hands tightened around herself, nails digging into her arms, deeply aware of Lance’s hands on her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her. She wasn’t on a Galra ship. She was in her apartment, in her bed, a smattering of glow-in-the-dark stars twinkling green over her. She let out another hard breath.

“I’m sorry.”

He pressed his lips to a shoulder, giving her another squeeze before letting go. It wasn’t a routine, but an inevitability. Some nights it was him, waking with a start, a blood curdling scream caught in his throat and she talked him down back to her, to them, to the warmth of a shared bed. Other nights, like say for instance, this night, it was her.

All of those nights, they both wished every scar could fade.

She took her anxiety pills, gulped down water, flopped backwards into bed and stared up at the ceiling, a care routine she wished she could have the luxury to not commit to. Lance next to her, not cuddling up as he often did but just lying there, a comforting reminder that, really, she wasn’t battling the ghosts back by herself.

“Remember when you and Hunk turned that sentry into, like, our best friend?”

Pidge let out a throaty laugh, knees curling up to her chest. “I do.”

“A total hero.”

“I miss that. Just the feeling of working with tech.” She stretched out a hand to him, smiling to herself. “And, naturally, the adventures we had with him.”

He took the invitation, gathering her hand, small and calloused, between his hands, bringing it to his lips, pressing her fingers soft, sweetly against them. “It was nice.”

“It was nice.”

They laid there in silence, their breathing matched, even, lulling her back. She felt the weight of his hand with hers, an anchor to their present, their reality. A reminder, gently, that he was there, and so was she.

No more war. 

But Lance was still here. She was still here. Her family, his, Voltron, the universes they saved, they were all still here.

The thought was comforting. It wouldn’t end the restless nights, the fears, or scrub away the white, rippling scars on her flesh, but it made her feel whole, to feel and believe she was still, certainly,  _ here. _

She went back to sleep, dreamless.

 

The morning came in a lazy hush, and they both had the day off. She needed to buy more coffee. He wanted to make them dinner. And grocery stores weren’t busy on Sunday mornings.

“Hey, Matt wants to know if you want to come over for Thanksgiving,” Pidge said to him, eyes glancing at her phone while Lance weighed and inspected tomatoes. He looked at her, brows raising.

“If I go to your Thanksgiving, you have to come to the McClain Christmas.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lance laughed, dropping a produce bag of three tomatoes into her outstretched basket. “Great. So when should I show up? What am I supposed to make?”

“Uh, that’s a good question. How about waffles?”

“Cease and desist.”

They shared another laugh, making their way through the aisles, chatting aimlessly about Pidge’s new classes at the community college and her lab partners, about Dr. Kaur, about old inside jokes that only made sense to them.

It was then, while debating on what kind of cereals to get, that Pidge felt someone was watching them. Her eyes glanced down the aisle to a teenager. At least fifteen, she couldn’t be sure. His eyes jumped away from her, back to pretending he wasn’t watching them, wasn’t trying to listen in to their quiet conversations. Pidge turned back to Lance, tapping him on the shoulder.

“I mean, if I had to pick a granola--huh?”

“That kid over there’s been watching us.”

Lance craned his head, catching the boy’s eye, shooting him a grin. “Maybe he thinks we’re the coolest couple he’s ever seen.”

She laughed at that, and she shook the thought off for a moment.

Then she felt a tap on her shoulder, a soft voice addressing her, them.

“Excuse me?”

They turned to the teen, and Pidge offered him a smile.

“Yeah?”

“You guys are, uh,” he looked away, sheepish. “The paladins, right? The paladins of Voltron?”

They exchanged a glance, Lance’s hand slipping into Pidge’s.

He spoke in the present tense. They are. Not were.

They had gotten used to not being noticed, to the double-takes, to people comparing their appearances to the legendary paladins but never quite making the connections. They were used to the motel clerk assuming the paladins had better things to do than stay at a dingy motel, to the therapist who didn’t blink or get excited over her patient being an old hero.

They had gotten used to that. To being legends, to being tales of heroism and light and courage to people, to being almost forgotten and being less than real people.

But they were still human. They are human. Paladins, in the present tense.

Next to her, Lance muttered a mantra, familiar, powerful, courageous.

That was enough.

Pidge grinned.

“Yeah. I'm Pidge, that's Lance. We're the paladins of Voltron."

Lance grinned, too.

“Nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and...... it's a wrap! :)
> 
> thank you so so much for reading. i know this chapter was a really, really long time coming. i think i struggled a lot with it, figuring out a way to really tie it all back, to end it in a way that felt honest and something i really, really wanted to share
> 
> with that said, that concludes string theory! this fic means a lot to me, and i'm eternally grateful for all the love and support and kind words!! and yanno, just in time with season 6 on the horizon, amiright???
> 
> also! before i forget, here's the [short playlist of the songs featured in Lance's playlist/this fic!](https://open.spotify.com/user/jebbyfish/playlist/1MNEgVsU1YwJMk59FYghyz?si=Z0A0AvOORjeipI_rEJXfEQ) thank you again so much for reading!! <33333333
> 
> catch me on [tumblr!](http://ghostvinyls.tumblr.com)


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